Clad in Blue
by DraGGonized
Summary: With Skyrim plunged into turmoil by the civil war, the fate of Skyrim lies on the skills of rebel leader Ulfric Stormcloak. If he fails, will Skyrim become another puppet of the Empire? This story follows Tymvir, a fellow Stormcloak. As he rises through the ranks, he and all Stormcloaks can only hope to bring down Solitude's looming walls...
1. Unbound

I took a little inspiration from the user Boys do Like Girls and his awesome story- _Season Unending_, and decided to make Skyrim larger. It seems more realistic that way.

Also, this is my first fanfiction, but that doesn't mean I want you to go "easy" on the reviews. I'll never get better that way!

**CHAPTER ONE- UNBOUND**

A carriage. People, supposedly prisoners sat across from me, as I wake. For a brief moment, I forget why I'm here. I tried to remember what happened, how I got here. I noticed the blue garb of the blonde, fair-haired man across from me, then noticed my own armor was the same shade. The memories rushed back into me.

"_Ralof, Frakig, Godrel, Tymvir!" Ulfric Stormcloak shouted, his voice booming through the Palace of the Kings. "I have a message I must deliver to Jarl Laila Law-Giver, personally. I assign you as my guard on this mission."_

_Ralof turned to me, Tymvir, a fellow Stormcloak and friend. "It seems Ulfric isn't expecting any combat- or else he wouldn't have such a small guard. But I hope we find a few Imperials to put down along the way."_

_Of course, Ralof was completely wrong. We found ourselves ambushed, midway between Windhelm and Riften. A thief named Lokir found himself too close to the ambush, and got captured. Us Stormcloaks and the thief were thrown in the back of an Imperial carriage. Now, I don't know where we're going. I only know Sovngarde awaits._

"Tymvir, you're finally awake." Ralof said to me. Next to me was Ulfric Stormcloak, bound and gagged. Across from him was Lokir- the horse thief. I turned my attention back to Ralof.

"How long have we been in this carriage?" I asked.

"Talos knows. I have no idea." He replied.

I look to the left, and see walls, and a few keeps, flying Imperial banners. Helgen. I know this place- in fact, I was born here. At least I'll die here, in my hometown.

I turn back towards Ralof. "Where are you from, friend?" I ask.

"Riverwood. My sister, Gerdur, owns the mill there." He tells me. "What about you?"

"Here. Helgen." I turn towards Lokir. "Where are you from?"

"Why do you want to know, you damn rebel?" He retorts.

Ralof finishes my thought, saying "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead." Lokir mutters.

The carriage stops. A headsman stand over a chopping block, waiting for us. We are escorted out of the carriage, and an Imperial soldier starts reading off names.

"Frakig, of Riften." He walks forward.

"Godrel, of Winterhold." Godrel does the same.

"Lokir, of Rorikstead."

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" He runs, and an Imperial captain shouts "Archers!" Lokir has almost escaped when a volley of arrows implant themselves in his back. He falls, dead.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Imperial captain asks. She turns to the other Imperial. "Carry on."

"Ralof, of Riverwood." Ralof steps forward, his head down.

"Tymvir, of Helgen." I step forward at my name, and hear Ulfric's name called after mine.

A crowd has amassed, some supporting, most criticizing us. My heart sinks when I see my father, Roggar, and my mother, Heddvi, weeping.

"Frakig! Step forward!" The Imperial captain orders. He steps forward and is kicked down onto the chopping block. The headsman's axe descends upon Frakig, and his head comes off. He is in Sovngarde now.

"Next, Tymvir!" The captain shouts. I walk forward, and hear an odd sound- roaring, off in the distance.

"What was that?" An Imperial asks.

"Nothing! Carry on." The captain demands.

I flash a warm smile at my parents, then I am kicked down onto the chopping block. I hear more roaring. The headsman briefly turns around, but turns back on orders.

But he's too late. I hear a… Shout. A Thu'um. Like Ulfric uses. "_Fus… RO DAH!"_ The headsman falls down, and I get up. Looking up, I see a dragon on top of the keep! _"Yol… TOOR SHUL!"_ an orb of fire explodes near me, blasting me back a few feet.

Godrel has somehow unbound himself, and he quickly unbinds the rest of us.

The headsman's didn't survive the blast, and I pick up his axe, then rush off with Ralof, Godrel, and Ulfric into the keep.

"Ulfric!" Ralof shouts. "What was that thing? Could it really be a dragon? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric says in his authoritative voice.

"Then we had better get moving!"

Godrel heads up the stairs first. He sees another Stormcloak- I guess we weren't the only Stormloacks the Imperials caught. Part of the keep's upper wall blast open as the dragon scorches Godrel and the other Stormcloak. I run up to where the dragon broke through the keep. There's only one way out- a 10 foot drop into Vilod's old inn. I jump in, then Ralof and Ulfric jump, too. We all experience pain, but we keep going.

As we step out of the inn, I spot my old friend Torolf kneeling on the ground, barely alive, with a puddle of blood beneath him. He's talking to his son, Haming. I cannot stop now to say my last goodbyes. I rush past him, and the dragon lands, right on top of an Imperial.

"_Yol… TOOR SHUL!" _It shouts, and an orb of flames explodes from its jaws. The blast kills a few citizens, among them Vilod, the owner of the inn. The dragon takes off again, and Ulfric and Ralof salvage weapons from the fallen soldiers and citizens. Ulfric has a war axe and shield, while Ralof has a mace and a free hand.

Three Imperials stop us, among them the list-reader. Ralof steps forward, and faces him. "You're not stopping us this time. We're escaping!"

"We'll see about that." Hadvar says, and they start attacking us.

I find myself at a disadvantage- I'm used to light weapons, and the headsman's axe is slow and clunky. However, I still miraculously manage to defeat the Imperial attacking me, and quickly drop my axe and grab his sword. I charge towards Ralof's attacker, and decapitate him. Hadvar is fighting Ulfric, and realizes there is no hope. He turns, and runs toward a keep.

"After him!" Ralof shouts.

"No- Leave him be. We have more important matters to attend to." Ulfric replies. We head into the keep from a separate entrance.

Right before I enter I see part of the wall collapse on my mother, off in the distance. "NO!" I shout. I force myself not to weep. Roggar, distraught, runs after us and enters the keep with us.

"Damn that dragon to Oblivion!" My father says. We both weep shortly, but then we keep going. Roggar salvages a sword from a fallen Stormcloak.

Both gates are locked, we're trapped here. But two Imperials approach one of the gates. They open it, and Ralof charges toward them, bashing one of their knees. That soldier falls, just as Ralof's mace collapses on his head.

The other Imperial charges at Ulfric, and slashes horizontally. Ulfric blocks her attack with his shield, and then proceeds to cut off the Imperial's head. I grab a sword from one of the dead soldiers.

We move forward, and soon find ourselves in a large supply room, accompanied by six Imperials. Not surprisingly, three of them immediately charge at Ulfric. He rolls out of the way, and Ralof assists him.

The others charge at me, and Roggar rushes to my aid. He deals with one of them, while I defend myself against the other two.

A battleaxe nearly collapses on my head, but I block it with my sword. I bash the side of his head with the blunt of my blade, then he stumbles and collapses. I then focus my attention on the other Imperial. He wields a sword, like me, and steel clashes against steel. Next to me, Roggar is still fighting his assailant. I drive my sword through the Imperial's heart.

I turn, and Roggar's attacker is about to win the upper hand. I quickly tackle him, and cut off his head.

Ulfric and Ralof defeated their attackers, and I remember the Imperial I knocked down earlier. I'm about to chop off his head, when he says "Wait! I can help you! Please… spare me. I'll fight alongside you. Just please don't kill me."

Ulfric turns to me, and tells me "We can't trust him." He then turns toward the Imperial and swiftly ends his life.

Next we end up in a torture room. A mage and his assistant are attacking a Stormcloak. I sneak up behind the mage and slice his neck. We all close in around the last Imperial, and the tortured Stormcloak kills him.

He turns to us, and says "Thanks. I'm Valund. I owe every last one of you my life."

He then follows us into a room that has more Imperials than the rest. I count around 10.

"Talos save us." I mutter.

Two of them charge me. I roll behind one and cut his neck, then disarm the other and kill him.

I turn around, to see my father struggling against three Imperials. I rush in, and everything is a blur. Me and Roggar flourish our blades against our attackers, and they attack us. I stab one, and he falls. Me and Roggar close in on another Imperial. After the soldier falls, we turn our attention to the last assailant.

He quickly disarms Roggar and kicks him aside. We combat against each other, and he ends up disarming me, as well. He kicks me down. He raises his sword, poised to strike my heart. A catlike smile stretches across his face.

Then, the smile turns into a frown, as he gurgles blood. He falls, and behind him, I see Valund! "Thank you, Valund." I say. "You saved me, I saved you." He says. There are three soldiers left. One is fighting against Ralof, another combatting Ulfric. The last has a bow and arrows. I choose him for my target.

As I charge towards him, he notches an arrow. Not towards me. I don't have time to see who he is about to shoot.

I get closer…

Closer…

And then he shoots.

I quickly drive my blade through him, then turn around.

_No! _I think.

For I see the corpse of my father.

I press even more tears back, and continue on the trail. Both of my parents, lost on the same day. But now they have a place in Sovngarde, and that brings me peace.

We press on the trail. "Why is this keep so huge?" Ralof wonders aloud.

"I don't know, but there must be an exit somewhere." Valund says.

In the next room, we are assaulted by a group of Frostbite Spiders. We easily dispatch them, and move on.

A bear is blocking our path, and it is in a deep slumber. "I'll handle this one." I whisper to everyone else.

I sneak up to the bear, and slash it with my sword. It gets up and quickly yawns. I take the opportunity and drive my sword into its mouth, and slash again. The bear roars, and retaliates by swiping my face with its claws.

I howl in pain, and Ralof takes my place. He takes his mace and bashes it against the bear's forehead. The bear stands up to attack Ralof. However, he took his mace and slashed it against the bear's exposed throat. After a short gout of blood spatter, the bear falls to the ground.

My face is bleeding, but it is not a serious injury. We walk across the trail, when I see light. "An exit!" I exclaim. Everyone else gathers around me, and we all celebrate. We run across the ground, into the light.

Once we are outside, we discuss arrangements for what we should do now.

"I've got a sister, Gerdur, up in Riverwood. We could go there, but two of us would have to find some other place to stay. The Sleeping Giant is an inn that the other two could stay at. I bet Gerdur and her husband Hod could provide them both with the funds to stay for a few nights."

"So, who's going to stay where?" I ask.

"Me and Ulfric should stay at Gerdur's house. He'll get too much attention, simply walking into the Sleeping Giant. However, you and Valund won't attract as much attention, so you both should stay there."

"Alright." I say.

Then Valund asks, "How do we get to Riverwood from here?"

"Just follow this trail North." Ralof answers. "We can head there together, or split up."

"I say we go together. We may attract more attention, but we'll be less likely to die along the way." Ulfric decides.

"Let's hurry out then. The dragon could be here any time, along with swarms of Imperials." Ralof states. We listen to him, and we leave the ruins of my home, the horrors of Helgen and the death of my parents fresh in my mind.


	2. Unexpected Visitors

CHAPTER TWO- UNEXPECTED VISITORS

After we make the arrangements, we follow the path Ralof indicated. Later, I see three stones. I remember- those are the Guardian Stones. "I'll be back. Don't wait on me." I say to everyone else. I run down to the Guardian Stones, and stare at them.

One has the constellation of the Mage. However, I have never been too fond of mages. Magic just felt so… unsatisfying. This stone is not for me.

Another has the constellation of the Thief. I automatically turn away from this one. That's a constellation for milk-drinkers, not a true Nord.

The last has the constellation of the Warrior inscribed on it. That- That I could use. It would dramatically help me in battle.

I walk up to the Warrior Stone, not sure what will happen, and touch one finger to it. Immediately, I feel- reflexes. I know… I know how to fight. I'm stronger, faster. Less fearful. I feel like I could take on a hundred men.

Then I turn back, remembering the others. I sprint back to them, and we keep walking. We encounter a few wolves, but those are quickly taken care of.

The rest of the journey was mostly uneventful. On the first night we camped in a clearing. Upon waking restfully on the next day, we reach Riverwood a little after noon.

We're all pretty thirsty, and hungry- the last drink we had was some unpurified water in the White River, our last meal being unseasoned wolf meat. So we head to the Sleeping Giant straight away.

Ulfric wouldn't go inside the Sleeping Giant- because of the attention problem. However, he still had some septims with him, and he gave us the money to go buy bottles of mead.

After purchasing the beverages, we start walking towards Gerdur's house. We split into groups of two, Ralof and Ulfric in one group, me and Valund in the other.

After we reach the house, Ralof knocks on the door. The door opens, and we see Gerdur. It was easy to tell she was Ralof's sister. They had the same eyes, the same hair. She greeted him kindly, and invited us all inside.

One the door is closed, she starts by exclaiming "Ulfric Stormcloak! Ralof! I thought you were both dead. And who are your companions?" She asks.

"This is Tymvir," Ralof says, pointing to me. "And this is Valund." He finishes, pointing him out. "We escaped Helgen together."

"You escaped? I thought the Imperials would have better security, with Ulfric bound for the block." Gerdur says, picking up a cup of tea.

"Yes… they had fine security." Ulfric replies. "But they couldn't defend themselves… against a dragon."

Gerdur promptly spits out her tea, out of surprise. "A dragon? But weren't they dead, long ago? Come now, tell me the story. I'll have Hod get you some food and drink." Upon saying this, she walked over to her husband, who was taking a nap, and wakes him. She briefly tells him about us, then demands he get us some food and drinks.

"I'll begin." I say. I tell her the story of Helgen, the dragon, fighting through the keep, and how we ended up here. The whole story took around half an hour to recount. Afterwards, Gerdur allows us to stay at her house, but we go along with the previous arrangements. Hod provides me and Valund with 10 septims each, so we could both rent our own rooms at the Sleeping Giant.

We say farewell to Gerdur and Hod, then head to the inn. The barkeep, Orgnar, greets us again. I ask if I can rent a room, and he directs me to Delphine, the innkeeper. Me and Valund each rent our own rooms.

I need to make a bit of money, and I know that barkeeps generally have an affinity for rumors and going-ons. So I head back to Orgnar, and ask how I can make the money. He tells me that Hod pays for firewood. So I start to head back to his house.

I run into Ralof along the way. "Hello, Tymvir. It looks like we're going to Whiterun." He says.

"Wait, what? Whiterun? Why there?" I ask.

"Gerdur's request. She asked us to go talk to the Jarl there, in order to request help for Riverwood." He answers. "We leave tomorrow."

"It's not easy to catch a break, is it?" I ask.

"No, not at all." Ralof chuckles.

So after talking to Hod and chopping firewood, I go to Alvor the Blacksmith to try to get a new weapon. Upon noticing my Stormcloak outfit, Alvor promptly refuses to make me anything.

"I can pay you well." I say.

"No, I won't lose my dignity for a few septims." Alvor replies.

It becomes clear there won't be any reasoning with Alvor. He's sided with the Empire, and I can't change that over a few words and coin. I leave, and head to the general store, run by Lucan Valerius. Upon the way, I am interrupted by a Nord named Sven.

"Hello, visitor." He says. "Could you help out a brother Nord?" He requests.

"That depends. What exactly do you need?" I say.

"Listen. Camilla Valerius, in the general store. Faendal thinks he can steal her away from me. I need you to deliver this fake letter to her. Say it's from Faendal. I'll pay you good."

He thrusts a sealed letter into my hands, and it looks like I don't have much choice. I walk into the Riverwood Trader, and see Camilla and Lucan arguing over something. Something about a "claw."

I walk up to Camilla, and follow Sven's instructions. Unfortunately, just as I hand her the letter, Faendal walks into the store. Camilla starts getting angry at Faendal, who is confused. He asks to see the letter. "Sven!" He says to himself. "I should have known."

He turns to Camilla, and tells her that he thinks it was Sven. She says I delivered the letter to her, and now Faendal isn't too fond of me, either. He turns to me and asks angrily- "Did Sven set you up to this?"

"I won't lie." I reply. "He did."

He punches me in the face.

I retaliate by punching him right back in the face, and then kick him in the stomach. He goes flying into the wall. The Warrior Stone! This must be part of its effects. Faendal gets up and leaves the store in a hurry.

I turn to Lucan, then ask if I can buy a weapon. He isn't too happy with me, either. After all, he is Camilla's brother. He discusses this quietly with Camilla, then turns back to me.

"Neither me nor Camilla are too happy with you, liar." He says. "However, there is a way… you could make this up to us. We're missing an ornament. A particular claw… A golden claw. In Bleak Falls Barrow. If you could fetch it for us, you could buy from us again… and fetch some good coin."

"I'm sorry." I say. "I don't have the time to get the claw." Then I turn and leave the store. I guess if the Imperials can use this sword, so can I.

I head back to the Sleeping Giant and retire to my room. The sun is setting. Valund rented a room opposite mine. He managed to get a warhammer from Lucan earlier. I buy some salmon steak from Orgnar real quick. Then, a few hours later, I go to sleep, ready for tomorrow.

The next day, me, Ulfric, Ralof, and Valund meet up at Gerdur's house. "Alright, so me and Ralof go to the Jarl in Whiterun, correct?" I ask.

"Correct." Ulfric says. "Tymvir, Ralof, you deliver the message to Balgruuf. Me and Valund will head back to Windhelm."

And with that, the arrangements were made. We say goodbye to Gerdur. Valund and Ulfric will accompany us, up to Whiterun's gates, then head east, towards Windhelm. We leave Gerdur's house, then Riverwood is behind us. We have a long journey ahead.

**Yes, the scene with Faendal in the Riverwood Trader was pretty crappy. I just added it in there to demonstrate how the Warrior Stone works in this fanfic. If you like this fanfic, review! If you don't, review! Or just walk away from your computer in disgust…**


	3. Tales and Travel

After buying enough food to last us, we head off to Whiterun.

"It's a 3 day journey from here to Whiterun." Ralof informs us. We cross a small bridge overlooking the White River, and follow the path.

"As if we haven't done enough adventuring already," I grumble.

"And we'll be doing a lot more if we want to win this war." Ulfric reminds me.

"I just hope we win this quickly." I reply.

Memories of my parents' death start to come into my mind. I quickly push them back, as I have been doing a lot lately.

I hear howling. Ulfric immediately draws his sword. We all do the same, with our respective weapons. 4 wolves approach from the front, 3 from the back. "Valund, Ralof! Cover the back! Tymvir and I will get the front!"

We get in our positions, and the wolves start their attack. Ulfric dispatches one almost immediately, just as I drive my sword through another's head. I roll out of the way of one of the beasts leaping at me, and I kill that one, too. _The Warrior Stone is really paying off, _I think. Ulfric has defeated the last wolf attacking us.

We turn around, and see both Valund and Ralof defending themselves from their last assailant, and Valund bashes its skull in with his warhammer.

After the minor setback, we continue on the path. We encounter no more delays that day. That night, we sit around the campfire, all telling stories from each other's past.

"So, Valund, how did the Imperials capture you?" Ralof asks.

"Ah, that." Valund says. "I was working undercover. I posed as a guard in Helgen, watching for activity to report to Ulfric. There were two others. One was posing as a guard, like me, and the other was a mage, pretending to be a scholar. He snooped around, a bit too much. They caught him a couple weeks before we planned to leave. They finally cracked him at around the same time we left. He thought they would be too late. We had already changed back to Stormcloak gear. A few miles away from the city, a small troop of Imperials brought us back, and tortured us, trying to find out if there were more of us. When we got to the torture chamber, the Stormcloak acting as a mage was dead. My companion was killed shortly before the dragon attack."

"You said you were about to leave, and that you were watching to report things." Ulfric says. "If you were leaving, you must have had something to report. What was it?"

"Actually, we planned to leave because we feared the Imperials were catching on to our little stunt. They didn't seem to be planning to launch an attack yet." Valund answers.

"So,Tymvir, why did you join the Stormcloaks?" Valund asks.

"Before the White-Gold Concordat was issued, my father was a Priest of Talos back in Helgen. After Talos worship was outlawed, he still practiced it secretly. Of course, he had raised me to know who Talos is, how great he is. I joined because the elves have no right to dictate who we can and can't worship." I explain.

After the others share their reasons for joining (except for Ulfric, of course), we go to sleep. We have an uneventful night, and the next day is mostly uneventful. We had a brief run-in with two Imperials, but they were quickly taken care of. We camp out near a small cluster of trees.

The last day truly put our combat skills to the test. We were nearing Whiterun, almost close enough to see the group of farms outside the walls. We saw a giant camp nearby, and tried to sneak by it. However, the giant saw us, and started walking towards us.

"On my count, we run." I say. "One… Two… Three!"

We all sprint away, Ulfric and I outrunning the others. The giant is faster though, and tries to bring its club down on our heads. I dive out of the way, and get up. I plunge my sword into the lower part of its calf, but the giant doesn't seem to feel it. "Everyone, keep stabbing it! Maybe we can bleed it to death!" I say. Ralof, Valund, and Ulfric follow my advice. In between dodging its club, we continually plunge our sword into different parts of its leg, Valund bashing it with his warhammer.

Despite our continuous attacks, the giant still looks unaffected. After it swings its club again, I get an idea. A risky idea, but an idea none the less. "Everyone, keep away! I have a plan!" The others start to look doubtful, but they back away. They still stay close to me just in case.

The giant swings his club down again. I dodge, then I leap onto the club. I run up it, then I start climbing its arm. It raises its arm to bring its club down, and I drop down onto its shoulder. I plunge my sword in between its shoulder and neck. It growls, then lifts its unoccupied arm to knock me off. No matter where I run, the hand will hit me. I stick me sword out in the direction of the hand.

The sword goes into its palm, but it pulls back. I'm now dangling in the air, only held up by using my sword as a handhold. But it starts to fall out of the hand. Slowly… slowly… then it falls out, the tip of the blade still in the beast's palm.

As I hit the ground, I see the others charge the giant, Ralof headed towards me. He gets me away from the giant, as my vision turns red… then white… then black.

When I wake, I find myself staring up at a ceiling. _I'm indoors,_ I realize. I slowly get up. The first thing I realize is that I'm severely disoriented. Everything seems to spin. After the dizziness stops, I slowly walk fumble to a door, and open it. My mind is foggy. I walk towards a counter, behind which a woman was standing.

"You're awake." She says bluntly.

"Yesh, I'm awake." I say.

"You took quite a fall. Not everyone survives a fall that high, especially when you don't land on your feet." The woman notes.

"Sho… How long wash I ashreep?" I ask drearily.

"Three days." She replies.

"Who are you, and where am I?"

"I'm Angelina. This is Angelina's Aromatics, the best, as well as only, apothecary shop in Whiterun." Angelina answers.

My mind starts to clear, but I still talk like a drunk man.

"Did shomeone named Ralof pash through here?" I inquire.

"Yes. He said he was headed to Dragonsreach, and that you should go to Windhelm." The apothecary tells me.

"Anything elsh?" I question.

"Yes, actually. He bought you a horse- the palomino one- down at the stables."

I thank her and leave the shop. Eventually, I start to talk normally again. I remember the gold I earned from Hod. My satchel of gold is still at my side. Then I remember my sword broke. I turn to the left, where Belethor's General Goods stands. I walk in, and ask if he sells weapons. "No, but Adrianne sells some, down at Warmaiden's. It's by the entrance. However, do feel free to browse my goods."

"Sorry. I don't have much gold to spare." I say, and leave his store.

After entering Warmaiden's, I see not the Adrianne Belethor mentioned, but a big brute of a man, with dark-brown hair that reaches his shoulders, and a large beard. I ask him who he is, and he says "I'm Ulfberth War-Bear, Adrianne's wife. She works the forge and owns the shop, and I sell her wares."

"Perfect. I'm here to browse." I say.

"Feel free to experiment with any of the weapons you see. Also, I'd appreciate it if you didn't chop up anything- or anyone, for that matter- while you are testing them out." Ulfberth replies.

The first weapon to catch my eye is a steel sword, much like the one I used. I see another sword, this one a katana. It had a black blade, pommel, and handle. I wasn't much for weapons that take up both of my hands, however, and then I see a blade that I think I could use. It's made of glass- not the kind used I windows, but a much more sturdy model. Its pommel has a soul gem embedded in it, that displays a fiery aura.

I slice the air a few times with it, and it feels natural. I turn to Ulfberth. "How much for this one?" I ask, holding the weapon.

"900 septims." He replies.

I count my septims. I have nearly enough- 850 septims.

"What's the lowest you'll take for it?" I ask.

"900 septims." He says again.

"I have 850- is there any way for me to work the rest off?"

"Go talk to Adrianne- she might have something for you to do. In the mean time, leave the sword here. I'll make sure no one else buys it."

Luckily, the forge Adrianne works at is right next to the shop. I go talk to her.

"I need to work off 50 septims. Is there anything I can help with?" I ask.

"Hmmm… Do you know how to smith with steel?" She questions.

"Yes, actually."

"Smith me a steel sword- Here's everything you need to make one." She hands me a couple steel ingots, an iron ingot, and a strip of leather.

A couple hours later, I give her the word. She thanks me, and brings me back into the sword. I acquire the glass sword, and leave both Warmaiden's and Whiterun.

I go to the stables, and talk to the stablemaster, Skulvar Sable-Hilt. I tell him about the palomino horse Ralof purchased. "I can't let you take the horse without first knowing your name. I need to know you really are Ralof's friend." He says.

"My name is Tymvir." I say.

"Very well. The horse is yours, on the far right." He tells me.

I mount the horse, and start riding it, wondering what I should name it. After a few minutes, a name comes to me- Shadowsnow. I simply like the name- it has no meaning whatsoever.

Apparently, Ralof also left me enough food for the week-and-a-half long journey on horseback. I start the journey east.

The first day passes uneventfully. I camp by the road, and the next day I wake restfully. The Throat of the World, the largest mountain in Tamriel, looms over me, as I ride towards it. It will be quite the journey, traversing around it, but one I am prepared for.

The rest of the day is occupied by me riding Shadowsnow, and I camp by the huge mount.

The third day, I trek to Ivarstead, and stop there.

When I stop, I head to Vilemyr Inn, owned by Wilhelm. I'm going there for a bottle of mead. I enter the inn, and see an old friend- Ralof!

I walk towards him. "Why are you here?" I ask.

"I figured you would stop by here. After all, what Nord passes through a town with a splash of mead to brighten his day?" He says cheerily. "Started to get nervous this morning, figured I'd stay here one more day."

"So, do you own a horse?" I wonder aloud.

"Yes, actually. Fine steed. Haven't thought up a name for her yet."

"So, do we resume our journey tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me."

**Sorry about the long chapter. Review it, and I might just spare you when I am surpreme dictator of the world. MWAHAHA.**


	4. Windhelm and Shenanigans

**I just now realized that Ivarstead is in the Rift, making it an unlikely stop on a travel to Windhelm. I thought it was in eastern Whiterun Hold. BUT I'M NOT FIXING IT.**

**Also, thanks to ErikTheRed00 for an awesome review!**

The next day, Ralof and I get our horses back at the stables. We're going straight to Windhelm from here.

After riding for about an hour, we strike up a conversation.

"What did Jarl Balgruuf say?" I ask.

"He's sending a detachment of men to Riverwood right away, along with the other small settlements in the Hold." Ralof replies.

"Will that be enough to fend against the dragons?" I ask.

"Not really, but it gives the people a sense of security."

"Did the Jarl say anything else?"

"No, I don't think so."

We make idle chat over the next few hours. It starts to get dark, so we camp near the road. We eat, and then go to sleep.

The next morning, I awake to hear sounds of unfamiliar voices. I keep my eyes closed to feign sleep.

"What should we do?" One voice asks.

"Take no prisoners. Kill them," says another.

I bolt up. "Ralof! Arm yourself!" I shout. I grab a sword from next to my bed roll, then look into the faces of five Imperial soldiers. Ralof is up, and has his mace in his hand.

"For the glory of Talos!" I yell, and charge.

I plunge my sword through one Imperial, then in a stunning display of combat, I spin around and decapitate a second soldier. The Warrior Stone was helping me again.

I see Ralof struggling in combat with a burly man, about 6 foot 5, wielding a battle axe. The only other two Imperials block my way. I enter combat with both of them.

I deflect a blow, and kick one down. He hits the ground hard, momentarily stunned. I turn my attention to the other, who has just attempted a swipe at my neck. I roll behind him, and slash his throat.

The tall Imperial obviously has the upper hand. I charge towards him. He kicks Ralof in the stomach, and he goes flying. _No!_ I think, seeing as this man likely has the blessing of the Warrior Stone as well.

He brings his axe down towards me, and I roll out of the path of the blow. I make a horizontal swipe towards his head, and he lets his heavy armor deflect it. He tries to kick me the same way he kicked Ralof, but I roll again. He realizes his weapon is too slow. He drops it, and punches me. I fall to the ground, my neck exposed. I expect him to stomp down on it, to crack it. Instead, he walks passed me, and grabs a sword from one of his dead brethren. Obviously, he is more brawn than brain. I force myself off the ground.

Sword against sword, we fight. I parry one of his blows, and try to break his armor by plunging my sword straight into his chestplate. It doesn't work. His armor is no ordinary steel. This steel is harder, tougher. I see Ralof is up, off the ground, fighting the Imperial I neglected to kill earlier. I turn my attention back to my fight. But I'm too late. With a flourish of his blade, he disarms me. My blade goes flying, out of my reach.

"No!" I yell. The brute kicks me, and I go flying like Ralof did. I'm winded, and I can't get up. The man walks towards me, and lifts his sword, preparing to run me through. I feel hopeless. Then- I get the willpower to live. I can't give up. I won't let this… thing kill me.

I roll, just as he plunges his sword into the ground. The blade is buried deep into the earth. I slowly get up, still devoid of most breath. Ralof finishes off his assailant, and he has my sword.

He tosses it to me. I see my opponent get his sword out of the ground. He charges me, and I sidestep him. My rage towards him flows through me, and I stab him in the back. I don't break the steel- something much more amazing happens.

As sword strikes steel, my opponent bursts into flames.

"Aghhh! Finish me!" The brute cries in pain.

Not even he deserves this kind of pain. So, more out of compassion than rage, I end his life by cutting off his head.

"H-How did that happen?" I ask.

"I don't know, brother. I don't know." Ralof replies.

I examine my sword. Glass, with a handle, blade, everything a sword should have.

_Wait a second._ I think. I look at the pommel- the stone in the middle. It is glowing red. Maybe its enchanted. But if it _is_ enchanted, then why did it never activate until the end of the battle?

I dismiss the question and sheathe my sword. Ralof and I eat breakfast, then start back on the trail.

The rest of the week passes uneventfully. Me and Ralof spar with sticks to keep our combat skills up, and we tend to race on horseback during the day. Midway along the journey, Ralof finds a name for his horse- Keyboziik. When I ask him about the name, he explains it is in the ancient lanuage of the dragons. Key simply meaning "horse", Boziik meaning "bold."

"So, you know the language of the dragons?" I ask.

"A little bit of it." Ralof replies. "Not a whole ton, but enough."

We ride on. As our journey draws to a close, we near Windhelm's momentous gates. I remember my home- on the east side of town, a nice little residence. I just hope the place isn't crawling with roaches by now.

I look up at the sky, the moon just rising over the horizon. "Where's your home?" I ask Ralof.

"I don't have a house, if that's what you mean. But I have a permanent room at Candlehearth Hall, and that's home enough for me."

Before we head up the bridge leading to this awe-inspiring city, we drop our horses off at the stables.

As we approach the gate, the guards notice our Stormcloak garb. They respectfully uncross their pikes, and open the gates.

Windhelm. The most amazing beauty you could lay your eyes on. The gently falling snow, the chilly breeze. I moved here when I was young, just joining the Stormcloaks. I was… 19, I think. 11 years ago. I've owned the same house this whole time. I've got memories here.

Me and Ralof part ways here. Ralof walks directly forward, to Candlehearth Hall, not too far from the gates. My house is about 2 miles east of here, and tonight is particularly cold. No matter, I'll tough it out.

I make it back home. I open the front door, and walk to my bedroom, upstairs. As soon as I'm in my bed, I collapse and fall asleep.

The next day, I awake early. I change into some more comfortable clothes, and head out my front door, off towards the Palace of Kings. It hangs over the city, almost like it's watching us. It's about 5 miles north of my house. I start jogging there, trying to get there fast. It'll be nice to see Ulfric, and hopefully Valund, again. I remember Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's right-hand man. Mighty good strategist, that one.

I get there about an hour later, and have to pass through the guards.

"Halt!" One says. "Who are you?"

"Tymvir, of Helgen. I was assigned to Ulfric's guard, and we were ambushed. We almost got executed. I'm here to see him." I reply.

"Ah, I've heard of you. Yes, Ulfric has granted you access to the Palace. Come now, I won't keep you."

So he and the guard parallel him lower their pikes, and open the door to the Palace of the Kings. I walk in, and Ulfric is on his throne, conversing with Galmar. I walk past the massive feasting table, and stand before the steps of his throne. Galmar stops talking.

"Reporting for duty, Sire." I say.

"Ah, Tymvir. Galmar and I were just discussing our next move against the Legion. I'll have an assignment ready for you in a few minutes, I'm sure of it. In the mean time, feel free to grab a bite to eat or some mead to drink." After that, he turns back to Galmar, and they continue talking.

I'm not very hungry, but mead sounds good. I take a bottle, then take a drink. The icy beverage rushes through my throat, refreshing me immensely.

After I down the bottle, Ulfric calls me. "Come, we're going to the barracks." He orders. His voice resonates through the palace, as it always does.

Ulfric, Galmar, and I walk into the barracks connected to the Palace of the Kings. He quickly rounds up enough soldiers to form a battalion.

"Today, Whiterun" has declared itself an enemy of the sons and daughters of Skyrim! It has sided with the Imperial dogs, and we will not let it stay that way! Men, we are going to take Whiterun!"

"There will be three battalions charging the gates. You are the first battalion. And your commander will be… Tymvir, a fine man and honorable son of Skyrim!" Ulfric booms.

I'm shocked. I've never had a real leading position in my life. Nonetheless, Ulfric's men are riled up, as his speeches always make them. We all cheer.

After everyone leaves, I sober up a bit, and approach Ulfric. "Why have you chosen me?" I ask. "Because, my friend, you have proven yourself a fine and courageous leader. In Helgen, you displayed this multiple times. When your father perished, you pushed on. I know how it feels, to lose a father. You handled it better than I would.

Then, there was the incident with the bear. Any other man would have stepped back. Instead, you walked right up to the bear and attacked it. Not just for your sake, but for the sake of the men with you. You can take care of yourself, too. Ralof stopped by the palace last night, and reported your journey here. By defeating the so-called "brute", you have proven yourself yet again. And these incidents, combined, make me feel confident that you will lead my men well. Come now, you have a city to take."

I'm awe-struck. I never thought I would actually be able to do this. But now, I know I must. I smile. I have a city to take.


	5. Camping

A safe distance from Whiterun, the three battalions have set up camp. I lead the First Battalion, Galmar leads the Second, Ulfric himself leads the Third. Ralof has been assigned to the First Battalion, Valund the Third.

Galmar, Ulfric, and I pore over a map of Whiterun and the path leading up to it. "What say you, Galmar? How do you think we should approach this?" Ulfric asks.

Galmar thinks for a moment, then he seems to come up with an idea. "Well, we'll be fighting an uphill battle- quite literally- which will allow the Imperials to steadily pick off our soldiers. So the archers should be our top priority. I say at first we send in a few of our stealthiest soldiers tonight to assassinate those on watch, along with the other archers lining the walls. At the first sign of combat, we charge. You have heard of _Blitzkrieg_, correct, Jarl Ulfric?"

"Yes, charging the enemy before they can fight back." The Jarl replies.

"That is what I'm suggesting we do. If we can lower the drawbridge, we can charge the enemy. Preferably, our men stay stealthy until the bridge is lowered. Once we're in the city, we continue charging. Archers on the front line, sending volleys of arrows everywhere. From there, we leave a small amount of troops to secure the Wind District. From there, we fight our way through the Plains District, and secure that area as well. Finally, we march on Dragonsreach. We'll need archers- The enemy will destroy us too easily otherwise."

"Blitzkrieg and stealth. It seems cowardly. Although, you have a point. We are still outnumbered, and that may be the only way to overtake the larger forces." Ulfric states.

"May I intervene?" I ask.

"But of course." Ulfric replies.

"Blitz would destroy us all. We can't siege a city, and charge our opponent. If we do, we'll leave too many alive, and they will take back the city with relative ease." I say.

"Ah, a flaw Galmar and I both overlooked. You remind me of Jorleif, my steward." Ulfric responds.

"So… what do we do now?" I wonder.

"I'm sure we can think of something. After all, we have Talos on our side." Galmar says.

"It's simple. We just drop the Blitzkrieg. Of course, we still need to get through the gates, and we'll need to charge in order to do that. However-" Ulfric starts.

All of a sudden, a soldier bursts into the tent. "The Imperials!" He says, panting. "They're- they're attacking!"

"What? We have to get out there!" Ulfric booms.

And that we do. Our men our scattered across the camp. "Members of the First Battalion, form behind me!" I yell.

"Members of the Second Battalion, form behind me!" Galmar shouts.

"Members of the Third Battalion, form behind me!" Ulfric booms.

Over half our men manage to form into positions, but the rest our stuck fighting the Imperials. "Archers, take the side positions!" I thunder. "Assist your brothers-in-arms!" My soldiers obey me. I have my men split into smaller groups, so they all fight, instead of just a few. I see Ulfric has taken a similar approach. I find myself surrounded by three Imperials, but I dispatch of them easily. I beckon towards five unoccupied soldiers. "Come, with me!" I order. We charge an isolated group of Imperials, and they don't stand a chance.

The battle seems to be in our favor. But then the axe falls. Our men become scattered as flaming arrows rain down upon us. My frustration mounts, but I try and keep a cool façade, to bring the soldiers confidence. Then it happens again- every time my sword strikes a man, he bursts into flames.

I don't have time to see how Ulfric and Galmar are doing. I destroy soldiers by twos and threes, forming a wall of flaming corpses around me.

The enemey's volleys of flaming projectiles haven't stopped yet. Our men are falling just as quickly as the Imperials'. I see the source of the arrows- a group of archers, positioned near the Pelagia farm, with buckets of tar near them. I charge towards them, ready to show them how burns feel.

I lunge at one, and plunge my sword through his chest. He's dead before he can feel the flames.

I get up, spin around, and flourish my blade to decapitate the next archer. I then kick the next Imperial in the stomach, and he hunches over. A blade through the back kills him.

Archer after archer fallen. Finally there is only one left. He runs. Too slow. I tackle him, drive my sword through his neck. His last words are- "Look out behind you," and a cruel smile stretches across his face. I do turn.

And see a flaming arrow enter my chestplate.

I wake up the next day in the medic tent. _Whiterun is bad luck. Both times I've visited this place, I've gotten put into some sort of coma._ Unlike last time, my mind isn't foggy._ Good, _I think. _I don't have brain damage._

I turn towards the medic- an elderly female, with long gray hair, and wrinkles stretching across herself. "So, did we win?" I ask.

"Yes, dearie, we won. You should be able to walk now. Ulfric will tell you the details." The woman says.

I get up, noticing I'm wearing robes instead of my armor. Probably got burnt. I walk over to the strategy tent. "What happened, specifically?" I ask.

Ulfric seems surprised by my presence. "Many sons of Skyrim lost their lives today. We can't attack Whiterun- not like this. Of course, we can't march all the way back to Windhelm, either. Therefore, we are marching midway to Dawnstar. Reinforcements from Winterhold and Dawnstar will meet us there. When we get back to the camp, men from the Rift will almost be here." He says. "Then we will have more than enough men to take the city, and get Galmar back."

"Wait… what?" I ask, stunned. "What do you mean, 'Get Galmar back'?"

"Oh, yes. It's a shame what happened. We had nearly driven the Imperials out. Galmar found himself stranded, and the enemy took him. Our scouts report he is in the Dragonsreach Dungeon, safe and alive- but I expect the torture to start soon. But, back to the plans. You will command the men from the Pale, I'll command the men from the Rift, and Ralof, assuming Galmar's position, will command the men from Winterhold."

"And what of Valund?" I ask. "Is he alright?"

"Yes. He got his leg broken, but it will mend." Ulfric replies.

"How long will it be until we launch the assault?" I ask.

"Around 2, 3 weeks. A week to get there, a week to get back, a week for preparing the attack," The Jarl says.

"What about Galmar? Will he even be alive in that time?" I demand.

"Don't worry about him. I had a little… jailbreak planned. An old friend will be breaking him out."

With that, he dismisses me. Back in my tent, I sit down on my cot.

_I stood, by the keep, about to enter. I look back at the wall- too late. The dragon used another Thu'um on the wall. As it falls, I see my mother under it. Too late…_

_Too late…_

_Like I was when trying to save my father. If I were just a little quicker… Too late…_

_Too late…_

_Too late…_

Too late. Those words had been ringing in my head everytime I remembered the gruesome deaths of my parents. I find myself weeping, and lay down. I go to sleep, even though it's noon.

When I wake up, it's not of my own accord, but that of a fellow Stormcloak. "Commander Tymvir, wake up." He says.

I'm not a heavy sleeper, so I do get up. "What time is it?" I ask, groggily.

"3:00. We're starting the march," The Stormcloak replies.

I leave my tent, and assemble in front of the First Battalion, who are already in position. I'm a little disappointed by the lack of manpower, though. We have so few men… Damn Imperials. The First Battalion is considerably smaller than before, due to yesterday. I shake it off, and turn towards Ralof.

"This your first time commanding?" I ask.

"No, actually." Ralof replies. "I've been Commander in a few battles. No major ones, though. Mainly skirmishes over small amounts of land."

"I see."

Ulfric assembles in front of the three battalions, and booms-

"Whiterun is within our grasp! The Imperials running this city are filthy milk-drinkers, and they would cower and run if we so much as set foot in their city! They will fear the colors blue and yellow, and their paltry  
"palace" called Dragonsreach will fall to our colors! Once we have the men from the Pale, Winterhold, and the Rift, Whiterun is as good as ours!"

A few cheers erupt from the crowd, but after yesterday, even Ulfric is having trouble boosting morale. The way they nearly crushed us…

We start marching, taking everything of importance to us from our camp. I feel sorry for the men guarding the camp, with the possibilty of being overrun relatively large. I look back, wondering how many of them will be alive in two weeks. I look forward again, and continue marching.

In exactly one week, we come into contact with the men from the Pale, those from Winterhold not far behind. They each lead one battalion. The battalion from Dawnstar is lead by Frorkmar Battle-Torn, a seasoned Stormcloak commander. The throng from Winterhold is led by Kai Wet-Pommel, a little bit of a younger Stormcloak commander. Not by much, but a little.

We camp at the spot where we meet, as it is already around nine at night. There are a few men who have to sleep on the cold, hard ground, but most of us brought bed rolls. It is snowing, and the white flakes that brought joy to me when I was a child could just as well kill us all here.

The next morning, we count five dead from the bitter cold. We march back, moving as fast as we can, to try and escape the falling snow. The rations of food are not as great as we had hoped they would be, but they're sufficient.

The first night, we're still caught in snow. One man had simply fallen over, dead, while we were marching. Two more died that night.

The second and third night, we're still in snow, but not as much of the stuff. We have no fatalities.

The fourth night, we pull out of the treacherous blizzard, and emerge onto the plains of Whiterun Hold. We encounter a small group of Imperial soldiers, but we easily dispatch of them, with only one fatality on our side.

The fifth and sixth nights are uneventful. At the end of the week, we arrive back at camp. We did so at night, as to attract less attention (although I'm guessing we still attracted quite a lot). When we walk back into camp, it has expanded. The men from the Rift are here, with a much larger troop than the Pale and Winterhold. They have three battalions, same as us from Eastmarch, except they weren't caught in the ambush back a while ago, so they still have whole numbers.

The next day, Ralof and I report to Ulfric's tent, on orders. When we arrive, Ulfric has bad news for us. "Men," he starts. "Our attempt to capture Galmar back has failed. Our… agent was killed in the process, but Galmar is still alive, but under torture. When we approach Dragonsreach, I need you both to send in 10 men to retrieve our trusted general. I'll be sending in my own detachment as well. Any questions?"

Neither me nor Ralof have any. "Alright, then. Get back to business. Come back tomorrow at noon. All of the commanders will be meeting here at that time."

And with that, we leave, knowing that Whiterun is soon to be Stormcloak territory.


	6. Battle for Whiterun

**Thanks to BDLG for all the reviews! **

Anticipation. Coursing through every one of us. Tonight was the night- win or lose, no surrender. Whiterun would fall to Stormcloak hands, or we would be utterly destroyed, and the enemy would destroy us all.

I wait. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. I'm readying my battalion, preparing them, waiting. Waiting some more. Waiting for the signal to strike. I look around the camp. Seeing the size of the camp, I guess we made it no secret we were about to attack Whiterun… but they didn't, and hopefully still don't, know the time that we will strike.

We had decided on Galmar's plan. After we take out the sentries and lower the drawbridge, we would charge the gates. I glance at the battering rams- two of them, ready to obliterate anything that stands in their way. Sweat dribbles down my forehead, but I try to keep cool. After all, my men can't be nervous when sieging a city.

As I look around the camp, I notice many men are just as nervous as me. _Not good, but expected._ I think. I look back up towards the gates of Whiterun. Atop one of the sentry towers, I see a torch light cease to exist. _It's started._ A few more sentries are killed. Our men are doing better than I thought they would. Ulfric recites another speech to boost the morale of our forces-

"Tonight, we fight to free the sons and daughters of Skyrim, and unchain them from the binds of the Imperial dogs! Death will not be feared on the battlefield, for those who die with a weapon in their hand, and a fighting spirit in their hearts will drink the finest meads of Sovngarde! The Imperials may have larger numbers than us, but we have Talos with us! They don't stand the slightest of chance!"

Three arrows shoot into the sky. That's our signal to charge. Battle cries erupt from the camp as we rush forward. Tonight, we fight for everything we stand for. Tonight, we fight for our courage, our valor, our honor.

We charge past the first section of the hill leading to Whiterun. I take out my sword, and cut down two Imperial soldiers. _Damn it,_ I think. Normally, there would only be the orange-clad guards of Whiterun. But now, the enemy has sent legionarres to defend the hilltop city.

Dismissing this, I shout "For the honor of Talos!" Just as I cut off a guard's head. Luckily, the men on the stealth team did their job- they had dispatched most of the archers, making this fair melee combat. An Imperial lunges for me, but I sidestep him. Before he can recover, I step down on his neck, swiftly ending his life.

Our men are doing well. We mostly overran the soldiers guarding this portion of the hill. We lower the drawbridge. As we cross, we leave some men behind to guard it, and the bottom of the hill. The battering rams have crossed the bridge along with us. The guards at the gate make a last stand, not opening the giant doors to the city and fleeing. I charge at one, and he parries my attack. I am momentarily stunned, and he tries to stab my heart. My armor broke his attack, but barely. There is a dent in that area now.

After I recover, I push him against the gate and stab him through the neck. The life fades from his body. After we clear out the guards, we prepare the battering rams. They bash against the gate, but to no avail. They aren't caving in.

Even worse, more archers have started lining the walls. They shoot down at our men. "Archers, fire back at them!" I shout. Arrows wizz up and down through the air, as both stone and ground starts to take a hue of crimson. The battering rams are still not having any effect on the gates. I try to think of some weakness we can take advantage of, but I'm having about as much success as the siege engines. Whatever those gates are made out of, they must be formidable.

I see a man that is operating the engine fall. The archers have switched their attention to disabling the giant rams. _No, this isn't good._ I think. Then Frorkmar Battle-Torn, leader of the Pale's army, shouts "Men from the Pale, focus your attention on the archers!" They do so, and I notice the archers fall a little more frequently now.

Despite this, for every archer downed, there is another to replace him. It's hopeless. I look around for something- anything to lower the gates, and I see my answer. On top of the wall is a lever, one that obviously opens the gate. _It's so high up… but if there were some way to reach it, I could open the gates._

_Wait… what if… Ulfric! He can shout the gate apart!_ I rush over to Ulfric to ask him about this, but he is one step ahead of me. He walks towards the gate, and shouts "_Fus… RO DAH!"_ The Thu'um. The gate is shattered into millions of pieces. "It's going to take a few septims to get that repaired!" Ralof jokes, grinning.

We charge into the Wind District, the mainly residential area of Whiterun. We send the men from Winterhold to gain control of the walls. Hopefully, we'll be able to take them. If not, then we'll lose a whole battalion of men. And we've lost a lot of men already.

We meet heavy resistance inside the walls. Obviously, Jarl Balgruuf has taken quite a few precautions in protecting his city. I charge into the heat of battle. "Talos smite you!" I yell, as I quickly end the lives of two Imperials. A third tries to cleave in my head with a sword, but I quickly deflect it, and disarm him with a flourish of my blade. I decapitate him, and see that we have not gained any more ground. I look back towards Ulfric. He is a primary target for the swords of the Imperials, but he can handle himself.

"_Iiz… Slen Nus!" _Ulfric shouts, and all his attackers become encased in ice. Our men attack them, although this is quite unfair, considering their condition. But this is war, and fairness is not a major factor in war.

We've managed to push a little past Warmaiden's though arrows have started falling on us again. The Imperial soldiers had taken akin to shooting us from atop the buildings. Of course, if they can climb up there, so can we. I order my men to gain ground any way they can, and rush behind the shop where I bought my sword.

Once there, I see a ladder behind Warmaiden's, ready to climb up. _Idiots,_ I think, as I do just that. After climbing up stealthily, I let loose a battle cry. "Death to the Empire!" I say, as I ambush an archer atop the store. After stabbing him through the back, his loose body falls off the roof. Three other archers surround me. "Ha!" I laugh. One is standing a little too close to the roof, and I kick him off. The two others are readying their arrows, preparing to shoot. I roll behind one and decapitate him. The last fires an arrows at me, but I leap out of the way.

He knows he won't be able to load another arrow in time. So he charges towards me, and bashes me with his bow, right in my stomach. I fall backwards, winded, as he takes out another arrow. _No._ I think. I toss my sword at him. It reaches into his neck, as it bursts into flames. _Again with the flames!_ I think. Then I see a tragedy start to happen. The archer, as he falls, sets fire to Warmaiden's. I take my sword out of his throat, and climb down the ladder as fast as I can. I break through a window, and leap in. "Adrianne! Ulfberth! Warmaiden's is on fire!" I yell. Adrianne shows up and rushes out, not long before her husband. Ulfberth makes a point of turning to me and giving me a punch in the face before he leaves. "Stormcloak rebels! This is your fault!" He says, before leaving.

I follow, and once I leave, I see we have gained a little more ground. The smell of smoke enters my nostrils, and I get away from the burning building behind me. Our archers have taken care of most of the men on the rooftops.

The ground is painted a dark crimson, filled with bodies- Some clothed in blue,some in orange. I look at the walls, and see how Winterhold's men are doing. I am not pleased. Their men are falling too fast for my liking. At this rate, they'll all die before they can take the wall. "Archers of the First Battalion, assemble here!" I boom. They report immediately, and I also gather up a few swordsmen, although I am still a little disappointed with the number of them. No matter, I'll make it work. "With me, men! We're going to occupy the wall!"

They follow without question, and we approach the wall. "Fire at will!" I bellow. While my archers bombard those on the wall, I assemble my swordsmen to guard the archers. As a small group of Imperials approaches, we enter a skirmish. A few more enemy soldiers join those already attacking us, and now our numbers are about equal. They get the first kill, stabbing a swordsman through the chest. One of our men raises a warhammer and bashes in the skull of an Imperial.

I charge towards a man, and slice down across his face. My sword no longer bursts into flames every time it makes contact with others, but it's still effective nonetheless. As I cut my way through the enemy, they start to focus their attention solely on me. They try to stab me, cleave me, decapitate me, anything that could work. But it doesn't. I spin around, and decapitate all that are near me in the process. One man flees, while the rest still bombard me with attacks.

With some help from my swordsmen, we quickly destroy the remainder of them, and they get back to guarding the archers again. As I guard with them, I hear an odd sound behind me. I turn around, and see a purple sphere. Then it disappears and turns into a behemoth of ice. I try to remember what it is. Then I remember from a book I read when I was younger. _Frost Atronachs. Commonly used by Conjurers. Powerful melee combatants, but lack any means of striking from afar._ _That's it!_ "Men, keep your distance! It can't harm you if it can't reach you!" While the archers take care of the Atronach, I look for a conjurer who could've summoned it.

Sure enough, I see one. Indistinguishable from the others, but he just conjured another Frost Atronach. I rush towards an archer, and tell him I need to borrow his bow. He obliges, and gives me some arrows as well, but keeps a larger distance from the Frost Atronach. I pick my target, and aim as well as I can- unfortunately, I'm no expert with a bow. On the other hand, when I release the arrows, it luckily flies right into the heart of the conjurer. As he dies, both summoned Atronachs disappear into a purple sphere again. I return the bow and arrows to its rightful Rift has just supplied more men to assist taking the wall, so I order my men back into the main heat of battle.

A storm is brewing over head. The town looks grim- Warmaiden's is burnt to the ground, as well as a portion of the Drunken Huntsman, opening the side of the building to the rain that is sure to come soon. I get back to the battle. Our men are starting to lower in numbers (in large part due to the detachments sent to overtake the wall), but so are the opponents'. We have just pushed into the Plains District, Whiterun's marketplace. Most of the market stalls have been badly damaged, as well as Arcadia's Cauldron, the town apothecary I woke up at after that fight with the giant.

As rain starts falling from the sky, lightning blasts its way through the sky as well. Great, just what we needed during a battle over a city. A thunder storm. We ignore this, and keep fighting. I easily fight my way past a few men, but then an Imperial charges at me. He is agile, but small. I roll out of the way, the tip of his blade grazing the back of my armor. I try to drive my blade through him, but he sidesteps me. "Trying to beat me at my own game, Eh?" I ask. "We'll see about that." I slice horizontally at his stomach, but he parries my attack. He drive his sword straight into the dent of my armor. He doesn't reach my heart, but he succeeds in breaking off that little bit of my cuirass guarding my heart.

This man is proving to be frustrating. Neither of us can get very many strikes on the other. I aim for his neck, break a pauldron on his left shoulder. He aims for my chest, hits my gauntlets. He finally manages to hit me in the head with a blunt blow from the side of his sword.

I fall down, and my vision gets blurry. I see him standing over me, muttering something, grinning, most likely a taunt. I reach for my sword, and grab it. "This isn't over yet," I say. I manage to drive my sword into his stomach. He briefly bursts into flames. He falls over, dead, and the rain douses the flames on his body. I still can't muster the strength to get up. His sword must have had some sort of enchantment as well. I lay low, quite literally, and only a couple of Imperials notice me. That's a couple too many.

One is about to stomp on my neck when he abruptly falls. Behind him, I see Ulfric, who promptly decapitates my other assailant. My energy slowly returns to me, and I get up, even though my back complains at this. I thank Ulfric, and we wade into combat together.

Two killing machines fight their way through swarms of Imperials. Quality over quantity, they say. "Stand back!" Ulfric says to me. We've just pushed our way out of the market plaza, and we are about to reach the stairs. The Jarl of Windhelm readies his voice, and faces the Imperials. _"Fus… RO DAH!"_ He Shouts with all his strength. The stream of men pouring in from Dragonsreach are blasted all over the place, most of them into the water. Our men force our way past the few who are still up. We station quite a few men at the stairs, in order to keep the surviving Imperials from attacking us from our rear. The bridge to Dragonsreach lies right in front of the imposing palace. There are a lot of guards and soldiers here, and they attack immediately.

We have nearly no room to manuever, so we have to work our ways out. However, we have spread our men thin. The guards and soldiers destroy many of our men quickly. They're quickly pushing us back. "Ulfric! Use your Thu'um!" I say.

"I can't. My last shout left me too exhausted." He replies.

Just as our men are about to be routed from the bridge, good news appears. Our men have taken the walls. They fire down on the Imperials. They have no choice but to retaliate, which in turn gives us fewer enemies to fight. Our rear guard is fighting their own battle, so we can't rely on them as well. The match looks even. I slash through a couple men, and I sustain a bleeding arm from a soldier. It's not too deep, so I can continue, and our men can finally push outwards. We lead them towards the right section of the wall, as most of the Imperials fighting against the archers are on the left side. It's safe to fire flaming arrows at the enemy, as they still take serious injuries from it, although the rain douses it quick enough that it won't spread to us. Finally, the enemy is routed against a railing. They are quickly destroyed.

We turn around, and see that the Imperials on the other side have also been killed. Then, it's time to send a detachment of men to rescue Galmar. Ten men seems like a larger number what with all the fatalities and the securing of areas, but we manage (well, at least once we get a small number of the rear guard to come along with us as well).

The doors open to Dragonsreach. Only four guards step up to fight. We disperse of them quite easily. There is, however, the matter of Hrongar, Balgruuf's brother, and Irileth, his housecarl. They are quite formidable fighters, so they will put up a good fight. The Jarl's steward, Proventus Avenicci, is nowhere to be found. Balgruuf himself stands up.

He draws his war axe, and he, his brother, and his housecarl, charge at us. I find myself isolated from my men, and Hrongar chooses me as his target. He tries to hit me in the side of the head with his warhammer, but I duck. I note that he is fast with a warhammer, despite the typically slow speed of the weapon. I try to stab his throat, but he blocks it with his weapon. He then bashes my stomach with the point of his warhammer. Blood trickles from my stomach. I roll behind him, and stab him in the back. I break his armor, and create a wound in his back, but it's not deep enough to be fatal. Hrongar turns around, and slugs me in the side of the face. I fall, but quickly roll and get back up. I kick him in the stomach, and he is blasted midway onto the great dining table. He breaks a few expensive-looking plates and goblets in the process.

While he struggles to get up, I jump onto the table and rush towards him. I then stomp on his stomach, further restraining him to the table. I take my sword, lift it over him, and stab the Jarl's brother, the "weapon in human form", right through the neck.

I see Ralof and Irileth fighting, with the latter gaining the upper hand. Jarl Balgruuf and Jarl Ulfric are having their own one-on-one match, a particularly spectacular one, that has caught the attention of quite a few soldiers. I rush towards Irileth, and grab her throat from behind. I throw her into a wooden plank supporting the ceiling, and it breaks. Luckily, the ceiling still holds. She is disoriented. Me and Ralof approach her, about to finish her, when she says-

"Wait… I submit. I cannot best you."

"How can I tell you're not lying?" Ralof asks.

"Look at me. Bleeding and helpless on the palace floor. I'll accomplish nothing by dying here. Just please… don't kill me."

Ralof and I relunctantly agree to let her live. We rush to Ulfric's aid, but he says- "No! This is my fight! Stand back!"

We do, and watch a shower of sparks fly between the weapons of the Jarls. We walk back to where Irileth was lying, and only see a small pool of blood.

"Where did Irileth go?" asks Ralof enraged.

Right before a dagger enters his back.

"You dirty elf!" I yell, and charge towards her. I kick her stomach (that's sort of become a favorite move of mine), and watch her fly. She is quicker than I expected, though, and sprints back to engage me in combat once more. Sword against dagger… this shoulder be easy. But now, I can see how Ralof was struggling. Her dagger implants itself in my knee, somehow breaking my armor. I cry out in pain, and try my best to stay standing up. Irileth turns invisible, and runs who-knows-where. She becomes visible again when she stabs a soldier in the back.

The rest turn on her, and surround her. She tries her best to fight, but I watch in amazement as she is stabbed in the heart, and her lifeless body hits the ground.

I turn to watch Ulfric and Balgruuf's battle. I hear the former bellow another Thu'um. _"Zun… HAAL VIIK!" _, and Balgruuf's weapon flies out of his hand.

"No more." Balgruuf says, wearily. "You have killed my brother, my housecarl, and you're all still alive. I can't win this."

I walk back to Ralof, who is still lying on the ground, bleeding from his wound. "Ralof… are you okay?" I ask, even though that might just be the dumbest question ever.

"Heh heh, yeah." Ralof says in a weak voice. "The wound is deep, but it didn't puncture my heart. I think I can still survive. Just do me a favor, will you? Find some cloth or something of the sort, and bring it to me. I can keep my wound from bleeding too badly if I have some."

I listen to his request, and find some cloth pretty easily. I bring it back to Ralof, and he covers his wound with it. I then turn back to Ulfric, and find Vignar Gray-Mane has entered Dragonsreach. "I am here to claim my position as Jarl." He says.

"Yes, we will proceed." Ulfric says. "Who will be your housecarl and who will be your steward?"

"Olfina Gray-Mane, my trustworthy niece, has volunteered to be my housecarl. Brill, of the Companions of Jorrvaskr, has volunteered to be my steward. I will set them into these ranks immediately." Vignar replies.

"Very well. I hereby establish you, Vignar Gray-Mane, honorable member of the Companions of Jorrvaskr, as Jarl of Whiterun Hold."

As Ulfric left, I stayed behind, waiting for Ralof to be able to get up. He does after a few minutes, and follows me out of Dragonsreach.

I look towards the city. It's damaged, yes, but it is now Stormcloak territory.

We have conquered Whiterun.


	7. My War Room, My Friend

**Thanks again for the review by BDLG! Sorry for not having any chapters in a while, I had a case of writer's block D:**

Back at the Palace of the Kings, we have a magnificent feast in memory of the fallen soldiers, and to celebrate the capture of Whiterun. Galmar was able to join the feast too, as he was successfully rescued.

The feast, in fact, was public. Anyone could come and dine with us. Despite the fact that the Gray Quarter is swarming with dark elves, I only see two of them. Not much of a surprise, I guess. We don't care much for them, they don't care much for us. Although I do feel sort of bad that they are confined that one area of the city their whole lives.

Across from me sits Ralof, who is surrounded by a man named Calixto and a woman named Suzanna (**get the reference anyone?**). Next to me is Brunwulf Free-Winter, a veteran of the Great War, and one of the best soldiers in the First Battalion, a man named Solding Grim-Blood.

I bite down into some beef, chewing it down hungrily. After being in a state of deprivation in the camp for so long, I'm thankful for such a huge feast.

"So, Ralof, how many did you kill?" I ask.

"Probably more than you," He laughs.

Between bites, I reply- "I seriously doubt that."

I look around the palace. The place is alive with chatter, especially at the tables where people of the poorer districts congregate.

I turn to Solding. "Nice job at Whiterun." I congatulate him. He had been promoted after the battle, as he was the man who killed Irileth, and he had served well during the whole battle.

"Thanks," He replies happily.

As the day wears on, people start leaving the feast, one by one. Eventually, I finish eating, and head to the war room, as directed by Ulfric before the feast started.

Galmar is already there, as well as Ulfric, his steward Jorleif by his side.

"So what are we going to do now?" I ask.

"We want to take Falkreath." Ulfric replies.

"Or, to be more specific, look at the map."

I do. Galmar points at two locations. "We want to take these areas before we assault Falkreath. The red flag just East of the city is Fort Neugrad. Heavily manned Imperial fort, just as necessary, if not more, than Falkreath itself.

Then there is Cracked Tusk Keep," He says, pointing to a white flag West of Falkreath. "It is currently inhabited by bandits, meaning it should be an easy take. However, we will have to send a relatively small troop of men to take the Keep, as we don't want to be noticed by the Imperials when headed there. Then, once we have secured both areas, we will flank Falkreath from the East and West gates in order to take the city. First, we will send in our men from the West Gate. This will distract the men from the barracks on the other side of town. After they are defending against our men from the West, we attack from the East. Then, the Imperials will be surrounded. We should be able to easily defeat most of their forces from there, then we go back to the East side of town, and march into the Jarl's the rest is easy."

After his long speech, Galmar takes a deep breath.

"And how long did it take you to think this up?" I ask.

"Around two hours, although we've had scouts travelling to and from the Hold for the last two months." Galmar replies.

"So how many men will we send to attack Falkreath?" I ask.

This time, Ulfric answers. "We're only sending in our three battalions from here. One battalion attacks from the West, two from the East. Should be simple enough."

"So, are we taking Neugrad or Cracked Tusk Keep first?" I ask.

"Neugrad. It will give us an important base, and a good location for our scouts." Galmar answers.

With that, we are dismissed by Ulfric. I decide I had better get ready for travel. Ulfric isn't one for waiting. I go home, and gather up some food. I also get my Stormcloak gear, a bed roll, and a warm cloak to wear under my Stormcloak armor. Because I have a feeling I'll be leaving really soon.

**Sorry about the short chapter. The… really short chapter. The next one will be longer and more exciting, I promise!**


	8. Dreams of War and Actual War

**Thanks to onyxteam and BDLG for the awesome reviews (Yay, I got two on one chapter)! Free fishy sticks for everyone!**

"_Blessings of Talos upon you, son," Roggar said, as an innocent little boy ran off to play. The little boy had not a care in the world; all the world was his playground, no cares in sight. He saw a little girl, playing by the street. _

_The little boy was dumbsturck; he had never seen this girl before. She was beautiful. He shyly walked up, and said- "Hi. My name… my name is Tymvir. What's yours?"_

"_I'm Eiruki! Nice to meet you! Want to play tag?" The little girl asked._

"_Sure. I… I guess." _

_The vision blurred._

_The little boy now was a reckless teen. Still not a care in sight, his life ahead of him. He watched his father. Bound, gagged. Dragged away by the elves. The damn elves! Not thinking, the teenager punched one of the smug, arrogant, Thalmor agents in the Altmer turned around and shot a bolt of lightning at the teen, stunning him._

_A few moments later, the teen got up, saw his father taken away. The moon high in the sky, the reckless teen wept. _

_The next day, sun rising, Tymvir sat on his porch, withdrawn from the world. Eiruki walked up. "You alright?" She asked._

"_Yes, yes. I'm find. Just… just go away." Tymvir replied._

_As she did, he wept yet again for his father._

_A week later, he and Eiruki were tracking down a carriage containing the former's father. No experience in combat, they were off on a suicide mission. But they didn't think so. They were recuing a man from the clutches of the Thalmor._

_Swords in their hands, they charged the carriage._

_Four Thalmor agents, against two reckless teens. Tymvir, rage built up, released it on the Altmer. One high elf fell from a sword in the heart._

_Another bolt of lightning. Tymvir dodged, barely. Eiruki was in combat with another Thalmor agent. Tymvir couldn't help her out. Another agent was combatting him. He disarmed his opponent, how, he didn't know. He just… did. He chopped off the elf's head._

_Take a man's parent, you get retribution. _

_A gout of flames flowed towards Tymvir, scorching his farm clothes. He didn't care. He leapt at the Thalmor, stabbed his heart. The high elf fell with a grunt._

_The reckless teen turned. The battle between Eiruki and the Thalmor wasn't going well. He had the upper hand. Tymvir charged. The agent turned, and stabbed at him._

_The elven sword stuck itself into the teen's stomach, not too deep though. Tymvir backed away, and tried slashing at the Thalmor. The elf disarmed the teen, and kicked him aside. _

_The Thalmor turned back to Eiruki, stabbed her straight through the stomach. _

_Tymvir knew she would not recover._

_Overcome with rage, he picked up his sword. He flew at the Thalmor, his rage burning into his attacks. He stabbed the elf in the neck, and he fell._

_He walked towards Eiruki, who was laying on the floor, blood flowing from her wound. Tymvir knelt down._

"_I'm… I'm sorry." He said. His eyes became watery._

"_It's not your fault." Eiruki replied, weakly._

"_Yes… yes it is. I dragged you into this. I didn't have to, but I did." Tears burst from Tymvir's eyes, his emotions uncontrollable._

"_It's okay… It's okay." Eiruki said. "Just… do one thing for me."_

"_Anything."_

"_Tell my parents I died well." She said, coughing up blood._

"_I will. And Eiruki…" Tymvir said._

"_Yes?"_

"_I love you."_

_Eiruki smiled. "I love you too." She then closed her eyes, and entered eternal slumber._

_Tymvir stayed there, weeping, crying. He berated himself. "It's all my fault! All my damn fault!" He cursed. _

_After a fair bit of self-criticism, regret, and sadness, he got up. Inside the carriage was Roggar, still bound and gagged. Tymvir wordlessly untied him, a sour look in his eyes. _

_The vision blurred again._

_Next, he found himself in the Palace of the Kings, applying to join the Stormcloaks. He wanted vengeance for Eiruki. He wouldn't let the elves commit any more atrocities. _

_Rage. Rage is what drives a man. A man bent on war, death, and blood. He won't stop until he sees the blood of the golden-skinned lining the grasses and plains of Skyrim._

"Sir, wake up." A soldier says.

I did, thoughts of Eiruki at the top of my mind.

"Yes?" I ask.

"We're marching on Neugrad in 3 hours."

"Very well."

I grab an amulet from my dresser- a gift from Eiruki, and put it on. I walk out of my tent.

We were near Fort Neugrad, ready to take it. Galmar's battalion and mine are taking Neugrad. Ulfric, occupied in Windhelm, is having Ralof lead a battalion of men towards Cracked Tusk Keep.

Galmar is standing near the command tent, beckoning for me to come over. I do, and we walk inside the tent.

"So the strategy is settled, then?" I ask.

"Yes. Recite it. I want to make sure you know it." Galmar replies.

I sigh, wearily. "We swim in through the hidden entrance, sneak through the sewers filled with waste, get into the jail that the sewers lead to, free our men, and take the fort from the inside out."

"Correct. Now, how many are going in to free the prisoners?"

"10 men, not including me. We free the prisoners, sneak outside, begin the attack. Everyone else hears, and breaks in through the main entrance."

"Good. I'll be seeing you soon."

Three hours until we march. I get ready, order my soldiers to be ready.

Two hours until we march. Everyone eats, making sure they're nourished before the attack.

One hour until we march. Galmar and I encourage our battalions and boost the morale. Neither of us are as good at it as Ulfric, but we're good enough. Our men our ready to spill Imperial blood.

Then it is time to start the attack. I take the ten men assigned to sneak through. I see one is an Argonian- first time I've seen an Argonian Stormcloak, but I guess that's good for this sort of mission.

We march towards the pond we were going to dive through. "Ready, men?" I ask.

I get a variety of confirmations. "Then we dive." I say, then dive in.

The water is murky, hard to see under. I can just barely make out an entrance. I've never been much of a swimmer, so I swim very slowly towards the entrance. I see the Argonian breathing. I'm extremely jealous, but I keep it to myself.

By the time I get to the entrace, my breath is running out. Luckily, I can surface almost immediately after entering the fort. I do, gasping for air, though as quietly as possible. I then realize what I had been swimming in- human waste. _Charming._ I think to myself.

I wade through, as quickly as I can without being heard. I feel ready to puke, but I don't- wouldn't want anything else in this gross pool.

Eventually, we find the jail. A single guard is watching the room, though he is faced in the opposite direction. I whisper to my men to wait, and slowly sneak up to the guard. I draw my sword quietly, then muffle his screams as I slit his throat.

I take the keys, and unlock the cells holding the prisoners. There are around twenty, more than enough to take the interior of the keep. I tell my men that it is safe to follow.

The (former) prisoners have their orders on how we're taking Neugrad. Unfortunately, the only way up is through a narrow hallway, not allowing us to take advantage of our numbers. We walk through, and run into a guard patrolling the hallways.

"Storm-" He is cut off by a sword entering his neck, but it's too late.

The Imperials charge us, forcing us back. They have around fifteen men, about half of what we have. I get an idea. "Fall back!" I order.

My men obey, and we find ourselves back in the prison room. Now we are unrestricted by narrows hallways, and we can take advantage of our numbers.

We surround the Imperial soldiers, and cut them down easily. We only lose two men in the process.

We then march our way back up the fortress, and open the doors outside.

We find ourselves on the upper walls of the Fort. _This will be easy._ I think. "For the glory of Talos!" I yell, and my men let out an assortment of battle cries after me. We spread out among the upper wall. The rest of our men charge inside the walls of the fort.

The archers prove to be a problem. They pick off several of our men before we can reach them. I lunge at one, and drive my sword in between his neck and shoulder, and he falls.

An arrow flies at me, and it catches in my armor. I ignore it, and charge towards that archer next.

He realizes he won't get another arrow flying at me in time, so he drops his bow and picks up a sword. He sidesteps me, and I stagger. I turn around, as he tries to decapitate me.

"Not on my watch!" I say. I parry his attack, then I kick him off the wall. If it doesn't kill him, he'll at least break his legs.

I realize our men have taken most of the archers out on the upper wall. There does seem to be a mage causing quite a bit of trouble for our men. Upon closer inspection, I realize he is an Altmer.

Reason enough for me to charge. As I approach, he turns towards me, and casts a spell on himself. He then lets me make the first move. I try to stab at his heart, but my sword simply bounces off of his robes. He laughs, then shoots a fireball at me.

I roll out of the way, and the blast blows away a bit of the wall. I stab at his neck, but to no avail. I notice a green aura surrounding him. _Of course! He's using a spell!_ I think. _But… how do I break it?_

Then I realize I'll just have to wait it out. He shoots a bolt of lightning at me, and as I try to dodge, it scorches my right arm, which is, unfortunately, my sword arm. I howl in pain. The mage laughs, and shoots another bolt of lightning at me. This hits head-on, and I go flying, my consciousness slowly fading away.

My vision gets blurry, and I am dimly aware of the mage, creating a thunder storm. _No. _I think. _He'll kill us all._

The shock of his spell is still running through me though, and I am frustrated by the fact I can't get up. I reach for my blade. I can't get up, but I can move my arms. I pick up my sword,and hurl it as far as I can, towards the mage.

It bounces off of his skin, but he bursts into flames. A look of confusion enters his face, before the burns kill him. I used up all of my strength.

After watching the mage perish, a content smile enters my face, then my vision turns black.

I wake, soon, or so I think, as the fighting is still going on. The fight is still equal. We've gained control of the upper wall, but the ground level is a battlefield, neither side able to gain the upper hand. I grab my sword from the wall, then I charge into battle, my blade and head held high. I satisfy my thirst for blood, my blade setting fire at every touch. I laugh, as Imperial after Imperial falls to the flames of my sword.

Arrows falling from the upper wall, scorched in fire, screaming for blood. Howls of pain, cries of victory, it's all the same now. My mind is set on taking the fort. Nothing else matters right now.

We start to push back the Imperials, slowly destroying them. I let the fury of all the events of my life flow into the grace of my attacks, Imperial blood splattering the ground. I'm covered in blood, most of which isn't my own, and a cruel smile stretches across my face.

On the battlefield, I turn into a reckless killing machine, not quite in my right mind. I forget that the casualties of war had lives of their own, don't recognize the emotions of others. I kill a man as he flees. I chop off a weakling's head.

A few second later, I find my foot on fire. I realize that I had just stepped on a patch of flames that I had created. "It burns!" I exclaim, and kick and Imperial in the shin, the fire spreads to him as well, and it burns his leg. He falls down.

I stomp the fire out with my other foot, slightly injuring my foot. My blade finds its way into the heart of a soldier, into the neck of another.

Then I realize I can't see any Imperials around me. I slip back into my right mind. Turning around, I see Neugrad.

Or, rather, what's left of it.

The place is burning. A wall of flames has spread from wall to wall. Luckily, most of the Imperials are dead, and the Stormcloaks are fleeing. I realize the complete burning of Neugrad isn't my fault- although a lot of it is, the flaming arrows _were_ a major factor in this.

I run towards the nearest exit. _So this is what a demotion looks like._ I muse. I was supposed to _take _the fort, not destroy it.

My bad.

_If just it were raining…_ I think. Unfortunately, not a could is in sight. There is a lake nearby, but even if we had men retrieve water, I doubt it would put out the fire. _Doubt._ It's still possible that it would work. "Everyone! Grab some buckets from the camp, and try and put the fire out with water from the lake!" I bark.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Galmar running up to me. "What _in Oblivion _did you think you were doing? You made it so the place is going to burn to the ground!" He exclaims.

"I lost control, Galmar. Wasn't in my right mind." I reply.

"Damn right you weren't." He says, and walks away.

I gather up a few buckets myself, and get some water. With my men, we all try to douse the fire, but to no avail. I order them to get some more, along with me. This time, the fire dies down a little. Not a bunch, but a little. It at least shows that fixing this might be possible.

A third time, the fire dies down even more.

The fourth time, we succeed at putting out the fire. We cheer. The structuring around the previously burning areas is a little weaker than before, but all in all, it still holds.

We captured Neugrad, even if I nearly incinerated it.

We're one step closer to taking Falkreath.

**Review, please! If you don't, I will hunt you down! Also, sorry if this chapter is a bit crappy. I wrote it at Five in the morning on no sleep.**


	9. Blade, Hilt, and Odd Magical Enchantment

Sorry I haven't posted a chapter in a while. I was on vacation (and, as a matter of fact, still am). Anyway, thanks to BDLG for yet _another_ review (you're awesome). Thanks to DarkReaver724 for a story alert (didn't notice that before). Now, I guess I better start writing the chapter now.

I stand alone in my tent, staring down at my blade. This had become a hobby of mine- studying the sword, trying to determine how it gets its powers. _Malachite. The blade is made of Malachite. The stone- a garnet. Probably enchanted, I know that much. But… when do the flames activate?_

I think back to all of the times my sword has burst into flames. _The first time- when I was fighting the brute. With Ralof. We were on our way to Windhelm. I don't remember much- just the will to live. And then… I stabbed him. That's when he became engulfed in fire._

_The second time- when the Imperials ambushed our camp. What was I feeling- anger, I think. Determination. I just wanted them… dead. And then the archers. Same essence. I just wanted to see them fall._

_Then, inside of Whiterun. Twice, it happened. First, on top of Warmaiden's. The archer had bashed my stomach with the bow. I tossed my sword into him, and the incident occurred again, razing the blacksmith's shop to the ground._

_Then I remember the agile little man standing over me, about to deliver a swift death. I stabbed his stomach… the flames proved a nearly instantaneous death._

_Next… damn it, my memory gets blurry here. A mage. I remember a mage. And… searing heat. Force as well. Lightning, was it? I remember my flaming sword impaling the mage. Not much else._

I pick up the sword. It was slender sword, having a thin- but remarkably sharp- blade. The hilt had a perfect grip, and a straight, relatively small, cross guard. The blade featured no fuller, one of the few disadvantages. The _ricasso_, or shoulder, is rather short, not stretching far beyond the cross guard. The pommel is about an average size, and embedded in it is the garnet- presumably the source of the blade's mysterious powers.

I look back at my memories again.

_The first time, I felt both rage, and a need to survive. Second- determination. Third- The need to survive… again. Fourth, rage, along with the constant necessity for survival. Fifth, the need to survive. Along with some bitter rage._

Of course, the reason has become obvious. The sword must have been enchanted so when my rage flares up, or when I'm about to die, it will flare up. But then, there was the one outlier.

D_etermination. The second one. The archers outside Whiterun. Not exactly rage, not exactly near death. Maybe… maybe the sword is driven by pure will? All of these acts have to do with my will. My will to kill the brute. My will to bring down the archers. My will, not to die._

I suddenly decide this must be it. Will drives my sword. _Next order of business- I'll need to think up a name for this beast,_ I think to myself. I then decide maybe I should show my discovery to Ralof- he has seemed to exhibit some curiosity with the sword in the past. I sheath my sword, in its leather scabbard, and walk out into our camp.

It's alive with both chatter and work. Today is a nice day, hot, but with a nice breeze. We're camped near Falkreath, to the East of the town- farther away than we were from Whiterun, for additional safety measures. By the way, our men successfully took Cracked Tusk Keep with relative ease.

As I walk past a group of soldiers eating lunch. "Hey, boss, do us a favor and don't burn us to crisps," one of them jokes. The others laugh.

"Ha ha, funny." I say sarcastically. I walk past, and find Ralof's command tent. I knock on a metal pole next to the tent, and my friend opens up the flap to the tent.

"What is it?" He asks me.

"My sword- I found how its enchantment activates!" I say excitedly.

"Really? How?" Ralof inquires.

I tell him about how it's all related to will. At one point, I even take out my sword and do an imaginary demonstration. My fellow commander seems genuinely interested throughout the whole explanation.

At the end of it, he congratulates me, and then returns to his tent. I decide to stay outside for a while, and enjoy the breeze. A day of rest has proven to be a very infrequent occurrence lately, and I intend to enjoy as much of it as possible.

I relax throughout the entire day, my thoughts not on the subject of Falkreath, or the war. The uneventful day is a nice break.

Sorry for posting another short chapter. I couldn't think of a whole ton of content to put in this chapter, besides what's already there. In around a week, I should be back to a normal writing schedule, although some summer homework is starting to catch up with me.

Also, if you didn't know the definitions of most of the terms relating to the sword, don't feel bad. I learned them all approximately 2 minutes ago, courtesy of Wikipedia.

Last but not least, let the reviews run wild! You love it, review! You hate it, review! You thought it was O.K., but not as cool as a penguin riding a unicorn? REVIEW.


	10. Battle for Falkreath Part One

**Hope you're excited, the Battle for Falkreath is here! Thanks for all 4 reviews by wastelandcreeper! Hopefully, this chapter will be my best one yet, as I just read 2 novels in order to make my story better! Anwyay, let's get this thing going!**

The battle is about to start. Death is about to ensue. Chaos will erupt.

I stand near Ulfric Stormcloak, each of us leading around 100 men. We wait east of Falkreath, ready to charge at the first sign of combat.

Today is a chilly day- not cold enough for snow, but enough to make some of our men shiver. A slight breeze cools my face and shakes the grass, and I watch Falkreath intensely, as I have all morning. I grab my canteen, and take a large swig of water. I take quick look at the sky. The sun is hidden behind some small, light clouds. The sky is mostly blue, with more clouds scattered here and there.

Falkreath itself looks prepared for battle. Probably following our capture of Neugrad, they set up walls made of logs. _It's probably best if I don't set fire to those,_ I think, seeing that sections of the wall are dangerously close to several houses of innocent people, as well as the Jarl's Longhouse, which I would prefer not to burn down.

Lined along the wall are several sentry posts, which have guards stationed on them. We had only seen these once it was too late to change our plans, and I'm guessing Ulfric might have to be doing some shouting.

Stormcloak himself is observing the town as well, entirely focused on it. I decide not to interrupt his thinking, and instead I watch for our men on the other side.

The men with Ulfric and I seem both tense and excited. I overhear random bits of chatter from our men, mostly by those who are getting impatient with the waiting. Personally, I am also getting a bit impatient, but I don't let anyone know.

Somewhere around twenty minutes later, I see our men on the horizon, as a faint outline. Ulfric stands up, and turns to our men. He's probably about to give another speech, like the one before Whiterun.

My thoughts are confirmed when he starts bellowing encouragements.

"Today, we will fight a battle that will be sung about for ages! We liberate the opressed citizens from the chains and binds of the Imperials, and the Thalmor! Fear not, my friends, for today it is… victory, or Sovngarde! For the glory of Talos!"

Cheers erupt from our men, and Ulfric lets out a charismatic smile. I also find myself itching to fight. Watching the cheers, I hear a few weapons become unsheathed, then see them pointed into the air, as a symbol of being ready to fight.

Turning back to face the city, I see our men inching closer to the makeshift walls, with weapons ready. The sentries are calling out to the city guard, alerting them to the imminent danger. I can barely see the majority of the guards hiding near the west gate. _By Talos, no._ I think. Our men will be ambushed by the guards, and worse, there's nothing I can do about it. Then I realize- what about the east gate? If most of the guards are clustered at the west gate, there would be no one stationed at the east gate. I let out a smile, thinking I'm a genius, and turn to Ulfric, telling him about my plan.

He replies by saying, "I don't think that would be the best idea. The sentries would spot us, and then, with our force here being larger than the force from the west, most of the guard would go to the east gate, thus messing up our plan."

"Oh… right." I say. I feel disappointed, but I don't let anyone know.

I hear some shouting (normal shouting, mind you. No one here is using the Thu'um, as far as I know), and I see our men have reached the wooden gates. The sentries stationed at the west gate shoot some arrows down at their assailants, but they are quickly taken down by a few well-placed arrows. Of course, the real challenge lies just ahead.

Our men are armend with nothing but their weapons and shields, but luckily the gate is not well made. With some manpower and some force with the shields, they bust open the gate. And are greeted by the city guard.

Our men (or, more specifically, Galmar's men), are losing ground quickly. Next to me, I hear Ulfric bellow the one word that means everything before a battle- "Charge!"

We start marching as fast as we can towards Falkreath, hoping we're not too late. As I'm marching, I take another drink of water, and then, seeing my canteen is empty, I toss it into the grasses surrounding us.

The winds have picked up, which are making it a bit harder to march. Luckily, our men are well disciplined, so the wind isn't much of a setback.

Galmar's men have been nearly repelled out of the city. We still have some distance to cover. "March faster, men!" I shout. We do, making this march more of a march-run hybrid. I nearly trip over a particularly large rock in my way, and jam my toe. "Damn it," I mutter quietly.

Our march-run proved to be effective. We reach the gates right before Galmar's men would've been forced out of the city. I unsheathe my sword, ready to fight. _I really must think up a name for this sword, _I think.

There are 5 sentries stationed at the east gate. They start firing down at us, and we lose two men. "Archers, shoot the sentries!" Ulfric bellows.

One by one, the sentries get impaled by volleys of arrows. Stormcloak smiles with grim satisfaction.

"Stand back!" He orders, as he steps towards the gate. He swallows, and then prepares to let loose a shout. _Here we go,_ I think.

"_Fus… RO DAH!"_ Ulfric shouts, and the gate is shattered into thousands of pieces. I get a nasty splinter in my left arm, and a small, thin, stream of blood starts to flow from it.

I wrench the splinter out with my right arm, and then there's searing pain. I force myself not to pay attention to it, and instead try to focus on the fighting.

I charge through the gates with the rest of the men, a few of whom seem to have encountered splinters like mine. The guards are shocked by our arrival. I lunge ahead of my men and impale a guard through the neck with my sword. I take a quick scan over the guards while fighting, and a thought enters my mind. _This is an awfully small amount of guards…_

I pay no mind to it and instead focus on killing the enemy. I try to keep my temper under control- I try to fight without getting excited, so this feels like paperwork. Currently, I have no reason to be angry, and I intend to keep it that way. The reason I do this is because now, knowing how my sword works, I have to keep from igniting the town like I did Neugrad.

"Surround the guards!" I yell, and our men spread out so that any way the enemy turns, they will be facing us. The Falkreath soldiers get a panicked look on their face. They know what is happening.

Galmar's men as well as ours are closing in on the enemy, their numbers dwindling. We lose a few men, but it's nothing compared to what's happened to the enemy.

Finally, there are around 20 guards left. As I stab one through the heart, he smiles, coughs up a bit of blood, and laughs before his limp form hits the ground.

I'm confused, and then see why he did that. I see one of the last guards yell, "Now!"

And then the enemy charges out from nearly every building- inns, markets, the barracks, and even some houses.

My heart drops. The tide of battle had turned- we, the ambushers, have been ambushed.

There are, quite possibly, twice as many Falkreath soldiers as there are of us now. _I hope this sword doesn't catch on fire, _I think. I decapitate a soldier, and luckily, his head doesn't burn. I breathe a sigh of relief, but quickly go back to attacking the enemy. I worry we might be fighting a hopeless battle.

I kick a soldier down and stomp on his neck, just as I turn around to see around 10 guards facing me._ Don't ignite, don't ignite, don't ignite,_ I hope as I face them in combat. I find myself surrounded. I duck under a blade, just as I stab a soldier in the stomach. _9 left._ I take the dead soldier's blade and use it to decapitate his comrade. _8 left._

I drop the soldier's blade, and disarm a soldier. As I roll out of the way of potentially fatal blow, I stab the disarmed guard in the back. _7 left._

I quickly sweep my leg under a soldier, and stomp on his neck as I stab another guard in the neck. _5 left._

I decapitate another soldier, and think _4 left._ Just as I cough up blood and hit the ground.

My vision blurs, and I am dimly aware of the 4 guards getting ready to kill me. _So this is how it ends._ I think. I let go of my blade, as I am fairly certain it would burn the town if I were to fight with it right now. I pick up a dead soldier's sword, and wait for someone to try and end my life.

One does try. With a blurry vision (and aim), I stab his leg and he falls next to me. I realize my arms are getting weaker, but I use some of my last energy to stab the soldier next to me again, this time in the neck.

_3 left._ I think, as I cough up a little more blood. They all lift their swords at once, and they are about to stab me, just as I stabbed the guard next to me.

I stab one in the foot, so I can be credited with going down fighting. He falls down, farther away than the dead soldier next to me. As two swords are lifted, my vision gets more blurry, as well as red, and I cough up even more blood.

Before they can stab me, however, they both fall from swords in their backs. The soldier I tripped also gets impaled through the neck. I am very, very faintly aware of the blue Stormcloak garb, and the soldier turns to me, and reaches out a hand. I can hear his voice, and it sounds like an echo."Remember me?" He says.

His face is blurry, but he looks familiar. Then I remember. "Valund!" I say, and a little blood exits my mouth. Maybe talking isn't the best idea.

His saving me here reminds me of Helgen, in which he also saved me by stabbing a soldier through the back.

His smile turns to concern as he sees the blood. "You can't fight like this." He says. "You need a doctor." I nod my head in agreement, and I feel a headache coming on. I look down at my armor, and notice that it is splattered with blood- most of it is probably my own.

Before Valund can get the chance to get me to a doctor, however, his head comes off. I stare in utter shock, as an Imperial wields his bloody sword, and he kicks me. I fall, and more blood trickles from my mouth. I cough up a little more, then my vision turns black.


	11. Battle for Falkreath Part Two

**Thanks to BDLG and simonstormcloak (currently called wastelandcreeper) for the reviews. Also, thanks to simonstormcloak for favoriting the story!**

Spots dance in front of my eyes, as they slowly open. I can tell I'm on a bed- probably a medical bed. A migraine is present behind my eyes, and I feel a little light-headed.

"Is he awake?" A Nord, female voice says.

"Yes, I think so," says another voice, this one male, also Nord.

As the spots clear from my eyes, I see the source of the voices. Standing next to me is the male- He has short, greying hair with a fading hairline, and his eyes are grey as well. He's a small man- definitely smaller than me. He's a bit on the pudgy side, and truthfully, all these images combined are quite hilarious.

On another matter was the female. She was younger than the male, with straight brown hair that reached down to her shoulders. Her eyes were a light shade of blue, and she was very scrawny.

The only similarity between her and the man were their robes- mage robes, if I recall correctly.

I look up towards the man. "Where am I?" I asked.

"You're in a safe place. For the time being, that is," he replies. He smiles a wizened smile- something that suggested he had much experience in life.

Reffering to his previous answer, I ask- "Could you be more specific?"

Just as the man is about to speak, the woman interrupts. "If you must know, you are in Dengeir of Stuhn's house. But it doesn't really matter. You need to rest. We've used healing magic to save you from death, but you're still in no condition to charge back into battle."

For a moment, I think of how nice it would be just to lay here and relax, and take a break from the killing and chaos, but then I remember how poorly the battle was doing when I was last outside fighting. I ask her- "How soon can I be back on the battlefield?'

"Not for a few days, at least. You were bleeding very severely when we found you. I'm surprised you've even managed to sustain a conversation with the amount of blood you lost."

"A few days? Do you know how poorly the battle fares? I need to be out there-" My speech falters for a moment, most likely due to the loss of blood the woman talked about, but then continue- "I need to be fighting! Not sitting around in some house, waiting for my friends to die!"

"What you need to be doing is surviving. If you really think you're in the condition to fight, then stand up." The woman says.

I do, and I nearly fall, but catch myself. "See? Easy." I say.

"Now step forward."

I take a step, then collapse and bang my head against the wooden floor. _As if my headache weren't bad enough._

"Alright. Maybe- I guess I'm not ready to fight."

"Good. I'm glad you understand." A slightly amused expression crosses her face, before she turns to the old man and says, "Hefadmun. Return him to his bed."

"Understood." Hefadmun said. He picked me up with surprising easy, and laid me back down on the medical bed.

"So your name is Hefadmun," I say, looking at him. "I'm Tymvir, and may I ask, what is yours?" I say, turning my head towards the woman. "Call me Wind."

"I take it that's not your real name?" I ask, fairly certain of the answer.

"No, and neither do you need to know," she says, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

I turn to Hefadmun. He just shrugs, and says, "I don't even know, and I've worked with her for 5 years!" He lets out a hearty laugh.

I hear a groan from outside, and of reminded of the constant warfare outside. I see the door open, and in comes an injured Stormcloak soldier, hefted by another healer, dressed in the same way as Hefadmun and Wind.

Turning my head to my left, I notice there are actually several medical beds like mine, most of them occupied by injured Stormcloaks. There were one or two healers by each bed, all of them frantically casting their magic, trying to keep up with the rush.

"So who's in charge of all this?" I ask Hefadmun, waving my left arm in that general direction.

"Ah, that would be Dengeir, of whose residence you are currently inhabiting. He set this arrangement up here shortly before the battle, although Wind and I worked near each other in a hospital here in Falkreath before this. This little arrangement has proven quite useful. We have prevented quite a few deaths so far. The best part is, we're still fairly certain the Imperials don't know about this, so the residence should be safe for now."

Directly after he says that, almost as if on cue, the door barges open and five Imperial soldiers charge in, brandishing blades and letting loose battle cries (along with a few arrows).

"My blade- where is it? It's glass, made of malachite." I tell Hefadmun, who looks extermely panicked by the invaders.

"I didn't see one when we rescued you," he said.

_Now I don't have the damndest clue where my sword is! Crap! _I think to myself.

The soldiers are assaulting the healers, but Wind is holding her own, and Hefadmun has not been reache yet.

I see a healer collapse near my bed, blood spurting out of several areas of his body. He could not have been older than 17 or 18, and I felt a pang of regret that I could not save him.

I shake off my blanket, and roll off the bed onto the ground. I'm still in my Stormcloak gear, so I have some decent protection against the Imperials. I look for a weapon. Realizing there are really no weapon stands or anything like that yet, I lay as low as I can and wait for an Imperial to die.

After about a minute of hiding, a soldier's limp body falls next to me. I take his sword, and start to hobble towards the Imperials. Although it's still painstaking, it't not as bad as walking.

There are three Imperials left, but they have massacred most of the healers. Hefadmun is the target of one of the Imperials. I see his arm get stabbed. He hunches over in pain. _No, Hefadmun, don't do that! _I think, briefly before he is decapitated by the swift descent of a sword. _Why does everyone everyone around me get decapitated?_

I manage to sneak up to an occupied soldier and stab him in the back. It is a fatal blow. A bit of his blood spatters across my gear, and I hobble out of the way.

I take another look at the room. There are 7 healers left, along with a few Stormcloaks in better condition picking up the fight. There are two Imperials left, and they're both surrounded.

I see an Imperial's charred neck as he falls from a lightning bolt. _Ouch,_ I thought, remembering Fort Neugrad, when I was knocked out by a lightning bolt.

There's only one Imperial left. The healers are about to kill him, but then a door opes from another room in the house, and an old, bald man with a long grey beard steps in. "Let me kill him." He said. "It's been too long since I had any action."

"Yes, Dengeir!" A healer says. He drags the remaining soldier over to Dengeir.

The elderly overseer laughs at the Imperial. "You weak, pathetic fool," he insults. He then stabs the soldier in the heart.

He then turns to all of us. "We can't stay here. It's not safe any more."

"Really?" I ask sarcastically.

"Shut up! No talking back! You talk when I say you can." Dengeir orders.

"We can't stay here, but we also can't move all these supplies across a battlefield. Follow me. I know a path out of Falkreath, that won't get us all killed," he continues.

"Wait! I don't want to retreat! I have my own soldiers out there, and I should be fighting, too! My honor demands it!" I exclaim.

"Then by all means, get out there." Dengeir says icily. "But while I'm gone, you aren't welcome to my house."

With that, he leads everyone else to the exi t, and I hobble my way back out to the battlefield. _Come to think of it, I really am an idiot,_ I think.

As I step outside, I see the battle is going a little better than before, but still not good. Our men broke their way out of the line of Imperials, but the enemy's numbers are far superior. I start to hobble randomly, trying to find the spot where my sword was left. At this point, I just want the Imperials to burn, and I don't care if the whole city goes down with them. _Where was I at? Oh, yes, near the east gate._

I look in that direction, and see that the battle has moved past that area. Unfortunately, I would need to hobble through the thick of combat in order to get my sword. I see another Stormcloak running past, and I stop him.

"Halt!" I command.

The Stormcloak turns around, and the his green eyes recognize me as a commander.

"Yes, Commander?" He asks.

"I need you to get my sword. It's glass, made of malachite. It's located somewhere around the east gate. Bring it back to me once you're done. I'll be waiting here."

"Yes, Commander Tymvir!" The Stormcloak says obediently.

He rushes off into the direction that I specified, and I sit down behind a bush, waiting for him to come back.

After a few minutes of observing the battle, the man comes back. He doesn't see me, and looks confused. Then I walk out from behind the bush, and he looks relieved.

I notice that he has some blood spattered on his face, and that he has my sword. He hands it to me.

"Thank you, soldier. That blood isn't your own, is it?" I ask.

"No sir, the blood on my face is that of 2 dead Imperials."

"Good work, soldier! You are dismissed."

As soon as I say the words, almost immediately, the soldier charges back towards the battle. I slowly hobble towards the battle, sword in hand.

When I finally reach the fighting, my fellow Stormcloaks are nearly defeated. "Stand back, Stormcloak soldiers!" I boom. I force myself to stand up, and I charge my way through the Imperials. This is a great test of endurance- I can hardly breathe, and it takes all of my strength not to fall over and black out. After what felt like minutes, but was probably no more than a few seconds, I finally find myself in the dead center of Imperial defenders. I spin around, killing all the soldiers near me, and starting a blaze. I leap over the blaze, and I am panting for breath. I start seeing double. I run, and run, trying to outrun the blaze.

About halfway back to my soldiers, I fall over, unable to get up. _No… I can't go like this._ Then I laugh a little, inside my head. _Well, I guess what they say is true. He who lives by the blade, dies by the blade._ The inferno claims a few Imperial lives, and it crawls outward, preparing to devour me.

I feel the heat of the blaze, it sears my skin, and yet it has not completely reached me yet. I inhale smoke, and start coughing. The fire towers over me. _Sovngarde awaits._

Then, a mysterious figure reaches out a hand. I clutch onto it, and he runs, dragging me along with him. My head hits a rock, and pain rushes into that area. However, compared to the pain I've felt today, this is nothing.

The soldier finally drags me a safe distance from the growing conflagration, and lets go of my hand. I start to regain my breath, and I sit up, and then I go back into my hobbly position.

Just the I notice the heavy winds. _Crap!_ I wind, however, is pushing east, meaning the hungry inferno is headed away from the town. I see Imperials and Stormcloaks alike running from the fire. At this point, they've both been distracted from killing each other, instead both having a common goal.

They then achieve their goal, and the skirmish continues. My plan worked. Our men now outnumber the Imperials- not a little, but a lot. The clouds overhead are forming into storm clouds. A nice little rainstorm would be useful, as it would douse the now unnecessary fire.

Alas, the rain has not started yet. Instead, I focus on the two Imperials charging towards me.

"Stop!" I say authoritatively.

The Imperials do, although they are more than a little confused about why.

"I just set a town on fire, and killed several of your kind before that. Do you really want to fight me, and cause the rest of the town to be set alight?"

One Imperial turns away and charges towards some other Stormcloaks, but the other is not convinced. He tosses his sword at me.

I step aside, and it lands next to me. I wrech it out of the ground. "Last mistake." I say. He turns around and fleeing. I toss his sword back at him, and I have a clear shot. It impales his neck, and he falls over, dead.

I see Ulfric and Galmar running towards the Jarl's Longhouse. "Wait! I'm coming with you!" I yell. They stop, giving me enough time to catch up.

"I do hope it rains. I'm really starting to hate fire," Galmar notes.

"Agreed," I reply.

Ulfric kicks the door to the Longhouse open, and leads the way in.

The Jarl, Siddgeir, sits upon his throne, and his housecarl and bodyguard, Helvard, already has his weapon drawn. His steward, Nenya, a high elf, stands ready to fight as well. There's a Legate Commander standing with a bow and arrow behind everyone else.

"Let me charge the elf," I mumble to Ulfric.

The Jarl's court stands tensely, waiting for someone to commit the first hostility. Jarl Siddgeir stands up. "Ah, Ulfric Stormcloak. I do hope you don't track mud into my hall."

"Let's skip the pleasantries." Stormcloak replies.

The Legate fires an arrow at me, and I step out of the way. I charge towards Nenya, the steward, eager to kill an Altmer. She draws her dagger, and takes a swipe at me. _You'd think the Jarl's court would be well-armed._ I think to myself. I parry her swipe, and with a flourish of my blade, disarm her. I try to stab her in the chest, but she steps back. She manages to pick her dagger back up, and stabs me in the arms. I would've hunched over in pain, but seeing how I was hunched over already, it wasn't exactly possible.

_Reminds me of Irileth,_ I think, as I kick her in the shin. I could've broken her knee if I was in a better condition, but instead I settle for her stumbling back a few steps. I run up to her, stab her full-force in the stomach. She's not dead yet, but she falls over, convulsing. I viciously pull the sword out, and the following blood spatter splashes over my cuirass. Her body lies still.

"Tymvir, behind you!" Ulfric yells.

I look behind me to see Siddgeir about to stab me in the back with his sword. "Well hey," I start. "I've never fought a Jarl before."

I force myself to stand up- it's become progressively easier throughout the battle. Siddgeir starts off by trying to make an oblique cut across my armor. I parry his blow with ease. "You really don't train much, do you?" I ask.

He tries to stab me, but I sidestep him and stab him in the arm. He holds his arm and howls out in pain, accidentally dropping his sword.

"Wait… wait… don't kill me," he pants.

"Tell me why I should not."

"Have I really commisioned any of this? You Stormcloaks charge my fine city, kill its inhabitants, and charge my longhouse. I do not deserve to die."

"Yet you cast your lot with the Imperials," I say decisively.

"No… no… you can't do this!"

I take both swords, and cut off the Jarl of Falkreath's head.

Galmar and Ulfric have finished off Helvard and the Legate, and they catch up with me. "So… who is the Jarl of Falkreath now?" I ask.

"I decided that beforehand," Ulfric replies.

He walks out of the longhouse without another word. Galmar and I wait around for a couple of minutes, making small talk. Then Ulfric returns, along with him the man who ran the healers- Dengeir. Dengeir of Stuhn.

Along with him is a man with long, blond hair and two braids, along with a woman who looks to be in her late 40s, and graying blond hair.

"I will be the Jarl of Falkreath now," Dengeir bluntly states. "Bolund, owner of the lumber mill here, will be my new housecarl. And Tekla, my maid, is to be my steward."

"Very well," Ulfric replies. "I see we have no further business here."

We leave the Jarl's Longhouse, and gather up our men. We have captured another city. Our campain is going well. _Now, there's just Morthal and Solitude,_ I think.

We leave the city of Falkreath behind as the sun starts to set.

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	12. Power of the Thu'um

**Thanks to both simonstormcloak and BDLG for the reviews! Another thanks to simonstormcloak, who's ideas will heavily influence this chapter!**

_Tymvir, the scarred teen, sat at the dinner table silently. His father,Roggar, once again sat down and ate at his own house, but Eiruki would never return home. Heddvi sat near Roggar, as the family ate dinner- ham, and bread._

_The teen radiated a lifeless aura, poking around at his food. _Clang_, went the fork as it bounced against the metal plate. _

"_Son, you know I cannot thank you enough for saving me." Roggar started, looking the teen directly in the eye. "You and Eiruki both make me proud. Eiruki died a hero, and we should celebrate her life, not mourn her death. It has been almost three months since the… unfortunate event, and Eiruki would not want you to be like this."_

"_And so what if she wouldn't?" Tymvir retorted. "She's dead anyway." His eyes got watery, and a tear slipped down his cheek, as he looked down at his food. He retreated into the far corners of his mind, where he recited a song from his childhood, to take his mind off Eiruki._

The True Elder once came,

To forgive his shame,

When he bet Ysgramor,

The king his what came,

The man bowed before him,

The say he was a siege,

Ysgramor took him,

Solved his problems,

But in return,

He betrayed Nirn,

And attempted to strick down Ysgramor,

Ysgramor stood,

Drawed out the Wuuthrad,

And strock his betrayer down.

_Throughout the song, Tymvir gnawed at his food, ignoring any attempts at conversation by his parents. The teen's sanctuary was his own mind, which no one could penetrate. _

_The vision blurs._

_This time, Tymvir cannot be seen. Heddvi and Roggar walk into his room. "He's not here," says Heddvi, aghast. As far as they had known, he had not gone anywhere but his room the whole day. "Maybe he's in his closet," Roggar suggests._

_The priest leads the way, opening the cloest door. They search through his clothes, to no avail. Heddvi's eyes water up, but she restrains from crying._

_As they start to walk out of the room, they notice a note on the door. "What does it say?" Heddvi asks._

_Roggar stares at the note, eyes wide open, shocked at what he finds. "This… this says… are you sure you want to know?" _

"_Tell me, please!" the worried mother cries frantically._

_Roggar turns his face to the note, unable to look his wife in the eye._

_He begins reading off the note, in a somber state._

Mother, father,

I am off to join the Stormcloaks. I can't stay here, and let the elves rule the world. Don't come looking for me. I'll be fine.

Tymvir

_The parents both weep, and the vision once again blurs._

_The scarred teen walks the plains of Whiterun, deprived of sleep and food. He had turned into a gaunt, terrible figure, whose sight could strike just a little bit of horror into some. Deer cross the wild fields, and the teen just looks on, a horrendous depth in his eyes._

_He uses a self-made staff to clear away the branches of occasional trees. His supposedly-strong Nord blood could not protect him during this journey._

_As he walks past a Giant's camp, he stops abruptly. His stomach growls and hungers. The giant is a stupid being,and does not notice Tymvir. There is a full leather basket of mammoth cheese laying nearby. _Normally, I would not eat something so gross, _the teen thinks as he rushes in and takes the cheese, and devours it out of sight._

_As the vision blurs, Tymvir has a dream- not a memory, a dream._

_Siege engines and war are all around. The grunts of wounded men, and the battle cries of victors fill the air with a chaotic tone. The city is Solitude, no doubt. On the stairs of a cobblestone pathway, Tymvir holds up a dying figure._

_Ulfric Stormcloak lays on the steps, his face held up by Tymvir. The leader of the Stormcloaks, the liberators of Skyrim, hacks up blood, and he drops his sword. "Ulfric no, no, you can't die!" Tymvir pleads. "Sovngarde awaits me," Stormcloak replies._

"_But what do we do now?" _

_Ulfric mutters some indistinguishable words, then passes into the void. Tymvir leaves the leader's corpse on the steps of the cobblestone pathway, just as the dream ends._

I wake up panting and sweating, in my tent. "I hate sleeping," I mutter to myself.

I get off the cot, quick as possible, and quickly put on my Stormcloak garb. Those dreams, or to be more accurate, nightmares, of my past, were haunting me almost every night. I would wake up in this state quite frequently, usually in the middle of the night. After putting on my gear, I peek out of my tent. This is no different- it is still in the middle of the night, shrouded in the cloak of darkness. I keep my sword at my hip- you never know when you might need it.

The moon is full, and there is no wind. The tents are motionless. I can't go back to sleep- not yet. So before I try and catch a good forty winks, I take a stroll around the camp.

It is perfectly situated- nestled in the mountains of the Reach, at an impenetrable height. Our tents are set up in a crater on the mountain. The hike here was rather painstaking, I'll admit, but it was worth it in the end.

My shoe crunches a clump of dirt, sending little flakes of the particle in any direction. My eyes gaze on, looking towards Markarth.

They don't know we're here yet, so that's a plus. I can barely see the City of Stone from here, but I can still see a little bit.

If I look closely and squint, I can see that there are little specks of archers on different watchtowers. It looks like a simple patrol- nothing to be worried about.

I move to the edge of the crater and sit down on the edge. If I look down, the view is spectacular, nauseating, and fear-inducing all at once. There are mountains, forests, and I think I even see a Forsworn Camp.

The Forsworn are the original natives of the Reach, and caused the Forsworn Uprising 27 years ago, when they took control of Markarth for two years. Coincidentally, that's about the same time I was born.

In truth, I have a bit of sympahy for the Forsworn. After all, this was their land, which was then invaded by strangers. It seems oddly similar to our civil war, in which Skyrim is our land, and the elves and Imperial Legion stole it.

Lost in thought, I almost fall off the edge of the mountain when I hear a voice behind me. "Can't sleep?"

I turn around to see Galmar Stone-Fist looking at me. I laugh a little. "You could say that. What are you out here for?"

"Same reason you are. Say, how do you sit on the edge of the mountain like that? I tried it once, thought I was going to die."

"Easy. Don't look down. Hey, on another subject, you got any idea on what to name this thing?" I unsheathe my sword, and toss it to his feet.

"Not a clue. Sorry."

"So when do we charge Markarth? And how?"

"To tell the truth, I have no idea. Just don't tell our men that! However, we should have scouts coming in tomorrow. They'll help us out."

"I hope so."

There is an awkward silence for a few moments, and the sound of cricket chirping fills the air. I take my sword back, and sheathe it once again. I look down on accident, and nearly fall off the side of the mountain. I judge that sitting here isn't safe, so I stand up, and back away from the ledge.

"So how's Falkreath doing? And Whiterun?" I ask.

"Neither one is doing that well, I'm afraid. In Whiterun, there have been rumors of an Imperial uprising, led by the Battle-Born clan. A member of the Gray-Mane clan, who's name was… Olfina, I believe? Whatever her name was, they found her dead in the Plains district yesterday all propped up against a well. This priest of Talos, whose name was Heimskr, had his body found lying down on a bench 3 mornings before. So either there's a serial killer on the loose, or the Imperials are trying to take back their city.

And then there's Falkreath. It's not relatively bad, but they're still in the recovering stage of battle. Lots of tombstones were burned, thank you very much, and families are upset about that. There was one man left homeless by the battle, starting turning insane. I'm not exactly sure how that happened, but I'm sure some Imperial sympathizers will be quick to place the blame on us."

"Agreed."

I continue talking, saying "You ever want a break once in a while? We haven't had a break from this fighting since right after Whiterun."

"Yes, that would be nice. Unfortunately, at this stage of the war, I don't think we'll get a break until we take Solitude… or die trying."

My eyes start to droop again, and I'm getting tired. "I need to sleep. Good night," I say, and walk off back towards my tent. I hear a sound in the distance, but ignore it.

"Tymvir, get back here!" Galmar shouts.

I jog back over. "What is it?" I ask.

"Look in the sky."

I do, and only see the occasional cloud.

"Look to your left."

I turn my head in the specified direction.

_No…_

A distant, but distinctive outline shows that we're in for a real disaster- a dragon attack.

It's orange scales stand out in the sky, a behemoth just waiting to cause mass destruction. Even from here, its piercing red eyes almost seem to be directed right at me… and they feel as if they don't stop at my own eyes. They feel as if they're staring into my soul.

"Rouse the men!" Galmar booms.

We run to Ulfric, and we scramble around camp, gathering our drummers. "Play as loud as possible!" Ulfric orders.

The drummers beating on the drums sound as if the whole of the Imperial army were marching on our mountain.

Our men appear from their tents, fully garbed and ready to go. A thunderous roar bursts through the air, almost deafening us, combined with the boom of the drums.

The hulking form grows larger, and a column of heated, blue flames unleashes itself from the beast's fiery maw.

The intensity of the flames would surely incinerate a man if they even got near him. As the monster hovers over us, another, skin piercing colum of flames liberates itself from the jaws of the dragon. A whole section of men is burnt to crisps. _Damn it!_ I think, a small bit of fear forming in my chest. Mustering my courage, I shout- "Archers, fire full force!"

Volleys upon volleys of arrows are let loose, and they mostly bounce off the dragon's durable scales. A few pierce the wings of the dragon, and it lets out a roar of pain, an orb of flames exploding from its mouth. It flies into the infinity above and behind us, off to burn up who knows what. "Men, target the wings!" Ulfric orders.

The dragon makes a hard landing right into the center of our men. Talons as sharp as swordpoints crush skulls of our men, and teeth that glare of evilness, almost parallel of a Daedric Prince.

The dragon makes a rumbling sounds, and then bellows, "Sivaas se Nirn! Luft hin dinok!" The sound was loud enough I felt as if it could shatter the sky.

Ulfric Stormcloak stands in front of us all. "Face me, dovah! Face my Thu'um!"

The dragon makes a growling noise that is probably their equivalent of a laugh. "_Jaar_, mortal. You know our _Thu'um_, our voice. Your _dinok_, death, will be here!" With that the dragon let out a magnificent roar, that would echo in the heavens, shatter the sky, and be sung about for ages.

The dragon opens its maw. _"Yol… Toor Shul!"_

Stormcloak lets loose his own shout. _"Fo… Krah Diin!" _

As they collide, the explosion is legendary, and deadly at the same time. It blasts outwards, obliterating all in its path. A glorious combination of flame and ice engulfs those who are too slow to avoid it, the blast is a messenger of Sovngarde.

As I struggle to get away, I see my friends get absorbed. _Damn it, Ulfric! Couldn't you have chosen a weaker shout?_ I wonder to myself.

Just as I reach the edge of the mountain, the explosion retracts from its peak, and collapses in on itself. Soon there is only smoke, ice, and dead bodies.

The suffocating smoke towers over me, restricting my breath. As I pant for breath, I look for both the dragon and Ulfric.

After emerging from a column of all-absorbing smoke, I see the beast. The life is drained from its once dangerous eyes, some of its brilliant scales removed from its skin. Turning around, I see Ulfric. He is lying down, asleep but not dead. Ashes are emblazoned on his face, parts of his hair missing, including the whole of his right eyebrow. A wall of smoke races towards him, threatening to take him. I rush in and grab him, lifting the heavy man over my shoulders. I cough, as the smoke starts to catch up to me.

_I can't outrun the smoke… not like this,_ I realize dreadfully. I see a shadowed figure rushing through the smoke, and I recognize the battle axe that Stone-Fist uses. "Galmar!" I yell. "Over here!" Smokes start to rush past me, swallowing me into the depths. Galmar obeys me, and immediately sees why I need assistance. Without saying a word, he helps me carry Stormcloak. "He's breathing in the smoke! He's going to suffocate!" Galmar shouts. We pick up our pace, running, sprinting. We reach a barrier of stone, leading up to the next peak. We can't progress any further this way.

Looking right, I can just barely see through the smoke, is more of the stone wall. Looking left, there is still smoke to the very edge, but there's a way down. Unfortunately, that would involve us sliding down the mountain.

_Maybe… maybe Ulfric can shout the smoke away!_

"Ulfric! Wake up!" I plead.

His eyes open as he hears his name. "I need you to do one more shout. Or else we'll all suffocate. Clear the smoke! Please!"

Ulfric laughs, before letting loose what is a Shout, but sounds more like a croak. "_Lok… Vah Koor."_

And then the air around us is once again breathable, and I take in the fresh air. Ulfric stays awake, but he looks as if raising his finger would kill him at the moment. "You killed the dragon, Ulfric," I say. "Good job."

I turn to Galmar. "Stay with Ulfric. Make sure he doesn't die." With that, I rush off, trying to find the survivors of the wreckage.

I search under pieces of fallen stone, at the edge of cliffs, in ruined tents. There are surprisingly quite a few survivors. Nords are made of hard stuff, that's for certain. Unfortunately, there is nowhere near enough people to attack Markarth, especially if it turned into a weeks-long siege. Right now, we look more like a band of outlaws, not a unified army.

We meet up with Ulfric, still laying down, unable to move a muscle. We sit with him for the next several hours, waiting for him to get up, or to pass on. We don't have any healers, so time is our best (and only) medicine. I'm not sure if he can survive this. No one is sure he can survive this.

We can only hope.


	13. Looks Like We're Skipping Breakfast!

**Thanks for both the reviews! To SimonStormcloak, thanks, I put a lot of work into the dragon attack. To ejthepinoy, I'm not just a Stormcloak supporter! I'm a pretty big fan of the Legion as well. To BDLG, thanks, the draconic probably took me around 10 minutes to do.**

Hours pass by without words, as we watch our wounded leader, lying near dead on the ground. Ulfric hasn't even mustered the energy to say one more word, since he cleared the smoke. How long ago was that? 3 hours? 4 hours? I don't know. Either way, the smell of rotting corpses is really starting to stink up the ruined camp. I accidentally take a big whiff of the stench, and nearly puke.

Galmar stands up, and exercises his arms and shoulders. I notice my own have started to get stiff, so I do the same.

"Next time, we should bring some healers along with us," I suggest to Galmar.

"I agree wholeheartedly."

The next few hours pass by uneventfully, with a few of us eating meals, and with the lighter number of men, we get quite the feast, at least compared to the rubbish we have been forced to eat.

As I look into the sky, I notice it is almost morning. The moon is low, nearly invisible from this point in the mountains. A faint glint of light crosses the dim sky, heralding the sunrise that is bound to come soon.

I stand near the rubble of my tent, trying to sort through the meager possessions I brought with me. I find a spare shirt, dark green with a large rips near both the areas around the left shoulder, and lower right abdomen. I toss it aside, and find another shirt, this one a dark blue, resembling the color of the Stormcloaks. It has suffered no injuries, so I fold it up and keep it next to me.

I find a pair of pants, with a rip near the left knee. I fold those up to, next to my shirt.

Finally, I find a slip of paper notifying me that my house bills are due soon. _Damn it! _I think. I read over the note, checking the information.

_To the honorable Commander Tymvir,_

_Your house tax of 200 septims are due on the 15__th__ of Frostfall, by sundown. Failure to pay these taxes will result in the repossession of your belongings, which will be returned to you after the taxes are paid._

_Windhelm's Steward,_

_Jorleif_

_What day is it now?_ I wonder. _Come on, come on… wait… it's the 13__th__ of Frostfall. _Great. Now when I get back, I'll have to pay a visit to the Palace of the Kings, and single-handedly take all my possessions back, after I pay my taxes. Or I could hire help, but this job isn't well-paying to begin with.

I hear an inaudible grunt from the crowd, and I hide my belongings. I stroll back over to the group of men surrounding Ulfric, and surprisingly hear my leader mumble a few words.

"Damn dragons… Can't attack Markarth… must get back to Windhelm."

Well, no surprise there. If we assaulted the mountain city now, the guards would simply laugh at us. Galmar begins talking with Ulfric, and I walk over to the edge of the peak, and sit down.

I survey the city once again, checking for any weaknesses in the city.

The stone masonry that guards the City of Stone does its job well. It looks flawless from here, flowing into the side of a mountain that effectively prevents anyone from attacking a good portion of the city. The battle inside Markarth would be a suicide mission as well- the stone pathways lead uphill, with several good points for archers to pick us off.

I give up hope, and walk off. I'm still in shock from the dragon attack- the behemoth that attacked Helgen was as dark as night, yet this dragon had glistening orange scales, completely unlike the other beast.

As a faint breeze tugs at my clothes, I shiver a bit. The altitude at which we were camped was definitely cooler than the ground, no doubt about that.

As I reach Ulfric, I see him struggling to stand up, assisted by Galmar and a soldier whose name is unknown to me. Ulfric's armor was definitely affected by the blast, with ash streaking from his right shoulder to the upper left abdomen. A bit of armor has been completely ripped off on his left arm, revealing a grisly and bloody mess of what used to be his limb. What wasn't charred and black, was so bloody the arm itself was nearly invisible.

As he struggles to take a first step, his body trembles out of weakness. His foot hits the ground, then he trips, and his nose smashes against the rocky surface. A grunt escapes from him, and then he shows his face.

There is a serious nosebleed, the red liquid trickling down his face from his left nostril. As it reaches his lips, he spits out a mix of saliva and blood, coloring the ground before him a red hue. A little more droops from his chin, and he wipes his face with his hands.

"Someone, get me a piece of cloth, or something I can stuff my nose with," Ulfric weakly orders.

I wordlessly run off to find my dark green shirt I tossed earlier. After not too long, I find it, next to a pile of ash. There is still a small ember burning the stuff that presumably used to be a tent.

As the smell of burning ash enters my nostrils, I make a crude cut on the shirt, a little below the collar. The inscision was supposed to be circular, but instead almost looks octagonal. I pick it up, and ball up the green cloth.

I jog back to Ulfric's position, and hand him the cloth. The flow of blood stops when he stuffs the fabric in his nostril. "So, when do we leave?" I ask.

"As soon as we can all walk again," Ulfric laughs. The chuckle is a faint sound, indicating the weakness he obviously faced.

I walk back to the edge of the mountain, to take another look at Markarth, this one to purely admire the architecture of the ancient city.

As I look down at the city, a terrible vision slowly unravels itself. Marching out of the city, are soldiers of the Imperial Legion. Marching towards us.

I take a step back, and see my friend Ralof standing nearby. "Ralof!" I exclaim. "I haven't seen you the whole time we've been on the mountain. Where have you been?"

"Scouting. I saw the dragon last night, and headed back as quick as possible. Still took me… what, 5 hours to get here. This mountain is steep. How's everyone doing?"

"Just fine! Oh, and be careful not to step on that burnt corpse next to you," I remark sarcastically.

Ralof's eyes widen. "How's Ulfric? Is he alright?"

"He's having trouble moving. By the way, are you aware that there is a _crap ton of Imperial soldiers marching towards us_?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Due to the dragon attack, the Legion found out about our presence here. They're coming to sweep out the survivors," Ralof reports. "I came to tell Ulfric."

"Well then, what are you standing around here for? Go report to Ulfric!"

With that in mind,Ralof runs off to report to our leader, and I follow him, hoping to find Galmar.

When we get there, Ulfric is taking a few wobbly steps, trying to keep his balance. I spot Galmar next to Stormcloak, overseeing him. I nearly run into Stone-Fist, but manage to stop at the last second. "Commander Tymvir!" he exclaims. "What's the hurry?" A bit of a worried expression crosses his face, and I recount the story of Ralof scouting, and the legionnaires that are about to attack.

"Do we have tar or oil to pour?" I inquire.

"No, we don't. There was a shortage of both right before we left from Falkreath. We couldn't afford it. And before you ask, we have almost no archers. Almost all of them died last night."

"But we still have a few, correct?"

"Yes, but we have a limited supply of arrows. We're going to have to be strategic with them if we want to have any to use on the way back to Windhelm."

Great. Now not only are we almost out of archers and tar, we only have a few arrows to use, and those have to last all the way back to Windhelm. Unless…

"Galmar, can we go to Falkreath instead of Windhelm?"

"No, sorry. We barely have enough guards there as it is. We can't afford reinforcements from there."

"Awesome," I mutter sarcastically.

I walk away, and call out for my men. "Men of the First Battalion, gather here!" I order.

I see my soldiers report in, and I am disappointed. The dragon attack severely weakened our numbers. I'm also extremely worn out and tired, so I won't exactly be playing my A-Game either. "Men, the Imperials are going to attack! We need to defend the mountain, and hold our ground, at all costs!" I've never really been a skilled motivational speaker, so I just said was was necessary.

As the men scramble to obtain their weapons, I watch the approaching Imperials. _How many are they sending? One hundred? Two hundred?_ It looks somewhere between those two numbers, so I'll just go with one hundred and fifty men. There seems to be a fair mix of swordsmen and archers, as well as a few men at the front lines carrying pikes.

_Damn,_I think. The pikes will push us back and corner us. And if we want to get past them… we'll have to go around them, into the mass of Imperials. Or, instead, we could use the few arrows we have available to stop them before they can get up the mountain. _Normally, climbing up a mountain to attack us would be suicide. But in this state…_

I take a pebble and chuck it off the mountain. Then I get an idea. Looking around the camp, I see quite a few large stones, almost like miniatiure boulder. "Men, gather up any large rocks you see, and move them near the edge of the mountain!"

As I say that, I can hear Galmar in the background, rounding up the Second Battalion.

I run over to Stone-Fist. "Galmar, who's going to lead the Third Battalion?"

He shrugs. "Eh, Ralof, I guess. I mean, it's worked before, right?"

It seems to be a rhetorical question, because he immediately calls over Ralof. "Ralof, you're in charge of the Third Battalion while Ralof is gone.

"Well, that was rather sudden," Ralof notes.

"Yes it was. Now go gather your men."

"Yes, sir!

I run off to assist my men with the rocks, as Ralof gathers his newly assigned men.

I see a huge rock, this one most likely a boulder, accompanied by three of my men. Even with them helping, it is still barely budging. I decide to assist them, taking hold of one of the few open spots. Turns out, one more man was all this really needed. We make quick progress, and store it with the rest of the stones.

The stash of rocks has become quite large, enough for the job. The Imperials, down on the ground below us, have just started scaling the mountain, trying to get to the camp. "Men of the First Battalion, no more boulders! We have enough!" I order.

I stand near the edge of the mountain, waiting for the Imperials to get to a sufficient height. This was looking like a failed surprise attack, considering how quiet they were.

I'm not even sure they knew we are prepared right now. They probably think we're resting, in order to recover from the dragon attack. Of course, we haven't had a whole ton of rest, but the rocks and height still give us an advantage.

I stealthily peer over the mountain, and see they are about halfway up. That's a long way down… too bad for the Imperials.

"Roll the boulders!" I order.

We push them off the edge, and they roll down the mountainside. Imperials fall, down to their waiting deaths.

The soldiers who survived (who, by the way, still outnumber us) are making more progress than I would have liked. Following the boulder drop, they seem to be moving even faster.

The first wave of boulders we dropped down was by far our strongest counter-assault. The second wave is not nearly as strong, but we do manage to kill off most of the pikemen. The second wave exhausts us of our boulder supply, and the Imperials are near the top.

A grappling hook latches onto the top of the mountain, where we are, and a few more soon attach themselves to uppermost section of the peak as well.

"Cut the hooks!" Galmar orders.

Men draw swords, and I do as well, as more and more hooks latch onto the mount. We can't quite keep up with them, but we manage to cut a few Imperials down.

Then they start pouring over. The few remaining pikemen are the first ones up, and they quickly push us back. There are maybe 5, or 6, pikemen. As we start to surround them, they form a circle, and impale a few of our men.

More Imperials charge the camp, pushing us back further. I dodge a blow to my head, stab my assailant in the chest. His limp body falls near me, blood spattering my boots and lower left pantleg.

We hve a few men guarding Ulfric, hiding with our leader. I imagine he would not be too happy about cowering, but he doesn't have much choice. I decapitate another swordsman, and notice not a single pikeman has fallen, but they make sure to leave a trail of bodies near them as they move.

I decide to charge the pikemen, and pray to Talos that I survive this.

I immediately manage to lunge at one of the men's right calf, and he stumbles over. I draw out my sword with as much force as possible, and immediately decapitate him.

Takina a quick glance around, and ignoring the smell of corpses I notice there are now no more Imperials that are climbing up the mountain, but the ones that have already made it here can just barely outnumber us.

Two pikemen simultaneously take a stab at me, but I roll out of the way. I stab one through the eye, and he swiftly dies. I turn around and kick the next man in the stomach, then when he bends over, I stab him in the back.

Two of the three that are left try to stab my chest, and the third lunges at me. I leap back, and the pikeman who lunged at me hits the ground. I quickly stomp on his neck. The last two take another stab at me, and one of them manages to impale me in my left bicep, and the pain is immense. I take a step back, and they don't relent. They take a few more stabs at me, each of which I barely dodge. I leap back, and flee from them.

They decide to once again focus on the other soldiers, instead of me. Instantly, I regret fleeing from them, despite my injured arm. Now their path of destruction will resume, even though they are severely weakened.

I kill a few more Imperials, but the drain on my energy is getting worse and worse. I take a look at my left bicep, afraid of what I would see.

Blood streams from my wound, a circular red form in my arm. It trickles down to my forearm, at which the flow stops, either dropping to the ground, or wrapping itself around my forearm.

I turn my attention back to the battlefield, and see Ralof struggling to fight off three Imperials. I see him get kicked to the ground, and I charge the soldiers. I stab one between the shoulder and the neck, decapitate another, and impale the last one through the chest. They never had the time to fight back.

Ralof stands up, and thanks me for saving his life.

"No problem," I say.

I follow him back into the battle. The Imperials are gaining ground fast, and we are nearly cornered against the natural wall of another, higher mountain bordering this one. The two remaining pikemen,I notice, are Orsimer, or Orcs. _How did I not see that?_ I ask myself.

Their eyes are red, and they spin around like a hurricane, obliterating all in its path. I decidethey might not make the best targets right now, and instead focus on the other soldiers.

Ralof and I cut through the soldiers in the thick of combat, and several enemies die by our hands.

We find ourselves surrounded, stuck in the center of the enemy force. Maybe cutting towards the center wasn't very smart.

Around 8 men attack us at once, most wielding swords, all prepared to kill.

Ralof blocks a blow, and I impale a man's stomach. My comrade takes a blunt blow the knee, and he staggers. He nearly gets stabbed in the neck, but I decapitate his would-be killer with a swift horizontal strike of my sword. "Hey, Ralof, you getting hungry yet?" I ask as I deflect a blow.

"Yeah. Looks like we might have to skip breakfast!"

He laughs, before his smile turn into a still impression. A sword plunges through his stomach, and my friend falls over, convulsing.

"No…" I whisper.

My sword activates, and I quickly dispatch the rest of my opponents, the smell of fire and smoke polluting the sky. The whole thing is impossible for me to remember, but I remember picking Ralof up…

Carrying him away from the fire…

Laying him down away from the smoke…

The life leaving his eyes.

My heart drops. One of my best friends, dead. We will meet once again in Sovngarde one day, and that gives me peace.

I close his eyes, briefly before I get struck in the back of the head. I fall down, unable to move. "Don't kill him. He has important information about the Stormcloaks. Bring him with us. Oh, and knock him out for good measure.

I feel another blow in the back of my head, and I drift off to the land of dreams.

**The end of this chapter was a bit sad for me to write, but people die in war, and I had to reflect on that. Anyway, review this story people! Because if you don't, I will track you down. MWAHAHAHAHA *cue evil music***


	14. Trying Times

**Thanks to simonstormcloak and BDLG for the reviews. In truth, I feel sorta bad, because Ralof was one of my favorite characters (personally). Then I realized he died in the exact same way that Valund did (except for the decapitation part). So, um, yeah…**

The pain in both my wrists and ankles are terrible. The black chains binding them are unrelenting and tight. My arms both have bruises from trying to break free. I shake my arms again, but it just results in more pain. My mouth is dry, my stomach empty. The back of my head still aches from the events at camp. _Ralof…_ I think.

My cell is dark, and I can barely see directly in front of me. I try to make out what's on the opposite side of my cell, but it is impossible.

I hear footsteps off in the distance, and I see an Imperial man clank down the hall, the sound of his boots reverberating off the walls. He carries a lantern, lighting up a small area around him.

He is clean-shaven, and I can just barely see his black hair, most of it hidden by his steel helmet. His eyes are the same color as his hair, as well as being hardened, malicious, and deadly.

He takes out a ring of silver keys from his left pocket, and sorts through them. He looks slightly confused for a moment, but soon finds the correct key and unlocks my cage. He walks in, and immediately a foul stench reaches me. I'm disgusted, despite the fact that I myself haven't showered for a couple of weeks.

He walks into my cell, and the true horror of it all is revealed to me. Near me is a table full of torture devices. Next to me is a torture rack, and a head crusher. Fear resonates within me, and the torturer walks up to me.

"Why, hello there, Commander Tymvir," he says, in a cold, surprisingly young voice.

I refuse to say anything.

"So, I am going to ask you a single question. If you do not answer, or I find out you are lying, then I am going to implement _every last torture device_ here, and slowly kill you." An evil smile appears on his face.

"Get me water first," I weakly say.

"Oh, fine, fine, just a second." He turns around, and yells- "Audani! Get the prisoner water!"

He waits for a few seconds, and an older Imperial woman brings in a glass of water. The torturer takes the glass of water, and turns back towards me. "Drink up," he says.

He takes the glass and shoves it into my mouth, and I nearly choke on the sheer force of so much water entering my mouth.

"So, Commander…" He walks towards the torture devices on the table, and takes one out. He strokes it gently, walking back in front of me.

"Where is Ulfric Stormcloak? Where is he hiding?" His voice is sharp, angry. So much different from the

calm tone he was using a moment ago. I know what this will result in for me, but I defiantly anwer by saying- "I refuse to answer your question."

"Very well," he coldly replies.

As he holds the torture device, he asks me, "Do you know, what this is?" He holds the torture device up for me to see. It is black and rusty, and resembles a pear, with a spike where the stem would be. He holds it by a stick at the bottom. At the other side of the stick is a screw, for what I am not sure.

"I do not know what that is," I answer truthfully.

"Some people call this The Pear of Anguish. It works by… actually, I think I'll just demonstrate."

He takes the Pear, and spins the screw. As it spins, the Pear splits into three parts, each of equal size, each having a sharp spike at the end. That… impaling me. Ouch.

"Well, what are we waiting for, O honorable Commander Tymvir? Let's start now." He spins the screw so it is back in its original position. "Open your mouth."

My eyes stare at the Pear in horror. "Please, don't…" I get interrupted by him shoving the pear into my mouth.

"If I remove this, will you tell me where Stormcloak is?"  
I shake my head.

"Very well." He starts to slowly spin the screw. The Pear, as it unfolds in my mouth, slowly begins piercing my tongue, and my gums.

He starts to speak in a mocking, girlish tone. "Tymvir, it's me, Eiruki!" He cackles. "Why didn't you save me? Why? Why? Was that too much too ask?" A devilish grin crosses his face.

_How could he know that?!_ I ask myself in alarm.

"Eiruki will be waiting for you…" He says coldly.

As the Pear unfolds even more, searing pain bursts through my mouth and jaws. I taste my own blood, and struggle against my restraints, only resulting in more pain throughout my wrists and ankles.

"Will you tell me now?" The torturer asks again.

I yell the word "No!" although it is muffled by the Pear.

"Maybe if I try… this?" He wonders cruelly, as he twists the Pear with full force. The Pear turns in my mouth, penetrating the its side, and cutting off the very tip of my tongue. His laugh echoes around the room, and in my head.

"Obviously, this isn't working…" he notices. He rips the Pear out of my mouth, and tosses it aside, my blood on it.

"Do you still refuse to answer me?"

"Yes, I refuse," I say, blood trickling down to my chin.

"I see." He turns around. "Audani, place the torches!"

For a second, fear rushes through me, but then I realize the Imperial woman called Audani is just placing torches in their respective spots, adding light to the area.

My torturer walks out of my cell, and to another on the opposite side of the room. He opens the door, and a red-haired, blue-eyed Stormcloak soldier is hanging in chains similar to mine.

He draws a sword, and points it at the captive's neck. "Now, Commander Tymvir, I demand you to answer my question, or the prisoner will die! Where is Ulfric Stormcloak?"

I swallow, and tears rush down the other prisoner's face. He couldn't have been older than 17, but his features were deprived, indicating that he had been in his cell for far too long.

I would never forgive myself if I allowed this youth to die. However, releasing Ulfric's whereabouts could prove to be the end of us all.

The other prisoner is now in hysterics, sobbing like a madman. "No, please, don't kill me!"

The torturer faces me, and says- "Make your decision, or I make it for you. 3…."

I'm panicking inside my head. _What do I do, what do I do? _I think.

"2…"

"Commander Tymvir, don't let me die!" the prisoner exclaims, as a tiny stream of blood releases itself from his neck.

"1…"

The blood flow increases, reaching down onto his torso.

"Nononononononononono!" The prisoner cries repeatedly.

"Wait!" I yell to the torturer.

He removes his sword from the boy's neck, but keeps it close by.

"Have you come to your senses, scum?" He asks.

I don't know what to do. Then, a thought comes to mind. A cruel thought, but an effective thought nonetheless. _Look beyond your human senses,_ I think to myself. _What would be more effective? Saving this boy's life, or Ulfric's? It's… Ulfric. He's the face of the rebellion. The boy must die. It's the only way._

I'll never forgive myself for this.

"Ulfric's whereabouts are to remain undisclosed," I state, trembling inside of myself.

"No! No! NOOOOOOOOOOOO….." the boy exclaims, as the sword penetrates his neck, and ends his life.

"Why do you do this?" I ask.

"What do you mean, 'Why do I do this'?" The torturer asks, a cruel smile on his face, spattered with the boy's blood.

"Why would you work here? Doesn't the pain… the suffering… get to you?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Anyway, let's keep going."

"I demand an explanation. Look around you. The blood of your victims, the screams of agony that you caused… no sane human wants to cause death. Every time I kill, I feel… remorse. Don't you?"

The man's smile starts to weaken. "And who are you to demand an explanation? Look at you! You can't do a thing about this! You will tell me Ulfric's location, or you will die."

"You've got a secret. I know you do. You're just waiting to get it off your shoulders. Why hide it? I'll be dead soon anyway."

"Everyone has their own secrets," the torturer states. He is now facing away from me, trying to choose from an assortment of torture weapons. "I prefer to keep mine to myself."

_Well, it's a start._ I think.

"Very well, murderer. Just know that you can kill me, but my spirit will live on in Sovngarde."

For a moment, I almost embrace what is undoubtedly going to come soon. I will join my father, my mother, Eiruki, and Ralof in Sovngarde. I won't have to deal with the pain of thoughtless killing, the agony of every dream.

Then I snap myself out of it. I'm a Nord- my honor demands I don't go down without a fight.

I thrash at my restraints. The torturer turns away from the restraints. He closes my cell door. He starts to unchain me.

First my left arm becomes free, and it feels sore, but much better then it did when it was chained up. He then unties the rest of my limbs, and I fall to the floor.

"Thank you," I say. I walk towards the cell door, only to be interrupted by him.

"The door's locked. I'm not freeing you."

I turn around. "What?"

"I said, I'm not freeing you. Get on the rack."

He points to the torture rack I saw earlier next to my chains. "No," I say.

"Excuse me, what?"

I charge at him, my limbs weak. I lunge, and tackle him. I'm on top of him, his body near the torture rack.

"Audani! Call backup!" The torturer yells.

I reach over and grab the Pear of Anguish. He reaches for his sword, but he's too late. I stab him in the throat one, two, three times.

He grunts, and I take his sword. _Wait a second… that's my sword!_ I think. I stab him one more time in the throat, this time with my sword. His body ignites, and I loot the keys to the cell from his right pocket.

I run to the cell door, and reach my arm around to unlock it. I see a group of 5 Imperial soldiers rushing down the hallway. _Hurry, hurry, hurry!_ I tell myself.

They nearly reach my cell, but I manage to unlock it just in time. I bolt out of the room, and my legs are burning. I haven't eaten in ages, or at least that's what my stomach is telling me. I run, dash, sprint, whatever you want to call it. I'm barely outrunning my pursuers, or the fire that's creeping up behind them.

I see a way up, leading into some other structure. I head towards it, and start running up stairs. There, I run into a giant stone palace.

_This is Understone Keep… _I think, as I wipe some blood from my chin, and slide past a few city guards.

I manage to stand back up just in time to avoid a stab from a steel sword, and rush towards the exit. The doors are just ahead…

I open one, and nearly get blinded by the light. I close my eyes and keep running. As myeyes are closed, I feel a tumbling sensation. I open them, to see myself falling down cobblestone steps, blood smearing my face. I make a heavy landing onto the stone floor below me. I get up, ignoring the immense amounts of pain coursing through me.

As I shove both citizens and guards, I see a plethora of city guards near the gates. They charge on site.

I'm cornered, backed into a stone building. I shove the doors open, and find myself inside of an inn. I just stand there. The guards have me. Now I'll be dragged back into that torture room, or worse, Cidhna Mine.

A guard takes my hands, and ties a rope around them. He takes my sword, and throws it on the ground near him. He wordlessly hands me over to the 5 Imperial soldiers that had originally started chasing me. They led me back towards Understone Keep, and along the way, I can see my blood staining the pavement in various locations.

I'm forced into the stone palace. Instead of leading me down to the torture room, as I was expecting, they walk me towards the Jarl's Throne, known as The Mournful Throne. The soldiers kick me down to my knees in the presence of Jarl Igmund.

The Imperial soldiers explain the past, and my escape, but I'm not really paying attention. I'm just trying to keep myself from losing too much blood. How I'll do that, I'm not sure.

My thoughts are interrupted by the eldery Jarl's deep voice. "Commander Tymvir," he states. You have commited crimes against the Empire, and murdered many of her people. What have you to say for yourself?"

"I have fought valiantly for the people of Skyrim. Talos started this Empire, and the _elves_ have forced you to outlaw him? That's insane. The Emperor has no honor, no glory. He had retaken the Imperial City when the White-Gold Concordat was signed. For that, I hope to see Skyrim returned to those who place their trust in Talos, and not those who submit to elves. I have no regrets."

A glint of sadness entered Igmund's dark eyes. He got out of the Mournful Throne, and started walking down the stone steps. One of the guards tried to stop him, saying: "Sire, you are facing a dangerous Stormcloak. You should probably stand back." Igmund didn't pay attention.

Once he was face-to-face with me, he quietly started talking at a breakneck pace, so that only I could hear.

"Listen, Commander Tymvir, I supported Ulfric. The only reason I support this damn remnant of an Empire is because I don't want the Reach to be destroyed by the elves. I'll let you go this one time. Consider yourself lucky."

He then started speaking in a louder tone, so that all of his guards could hear. "Commander Tymvir, you are hereby expelled from the Reach for your terrible crimes against the Empire. If you come back, you will be shot on sight."

As guards started escorting me out of Understone Keep, I turned back one last time. The Jarl let out a benevolent, old smile.

I'm led out of Markarth by the guards, and I expect them to let me go here. Instead, they keep walking.

After what seems like hours, I have not still not exchanged a single word with either of the guards, and they abruptly let go of me, then start walking back. "Wait… what are you doing?" I ask. I'm surrounded by trees.

"You are now in Whiterun Hold. Take one step towards us and we will kill you." With that, they keep walking.

I guess I'm free, although it's starting to turn to nightfall, and I'm terribly cold already. I feel my right hip, only to notice my sword isn't here. _Great,_ I think. I'm stuck out in the wilderness with no form of defense, no food, and no water. Speaking of which, my mouth is starting to get dry.

On another note, it'll be nice to be back in Windhelm in a couple of weeks.

**Sorry for the weird ending, I couldn't really think of anything good. Still, review, tell me what you think of the chapter, or story in general. Just remember… if you don't, I will FUS RO DAH you off of a cliff.**


	15. A Shattered Legacy

**Thank you to BDLG and simonstormcloak for the reviews! To anyone else reading this: REVIEW! The box is at the bottom of the page, and anonymous users can review too! So, once again, review! Also, due to a couple of requests, I think I will, later on, describe the torturer's backstory, using an awesome suggestion from simonstormcloak!**

The giant gates of Whiterun stand before me. The male Stormcloak guards handle heavy pikes, that intersect near the middle of the gate. The moon is rising; I've been travelling all day, and am weary. My hair is a complete mess, bags under my eyes.

As I stand in front of the gates, the guards remove their pikes out of recognition. "Svogre, open the gates!" The guard on the right yells in a deep, clear voice.

Massive chains are moved, and the giant gates, that were very expensive to repair, open, allowing me entrance to the city.

The city is still a mess; the rubble from Warmaiden's still hasn't been cleared out, The Drunken Huntsman appears abandoned, the pathways are a disaster, and the market looks like a collection of run-down lemonade stands.

As I walk through the town, I watch a street light flicker on and off, the dim lantern unable to decide whether it wants to provide light or not. I notice a section of the wall that has been destroyed, which frustrates immensely. Walls should take priority over all else, especially in a poorly-defended city like this.

I walk past the ruined market stands, and open the door to the local inn, the Bannered Mare. Both exterior and interior look relatively untouched by the battle; the place is still lively with cheerful souls drunk on mead, and the radiating fire gives the area an aura of peace, packaged with the calm crackle of the flames. _First time in a while I saw a fire that didn't kill tons of people,_ I muse.

I sit down on a wooden bar stool next to the bar, and the seat makes an odd creaking sound as I am sitting.

The barmaid is a middle-aged woman with short red hair, and a smooth, but not perfect, complexion. Her lips form a benevolent smile, and she says, "You look tired, traveler. Care for a room? Ten septims for one night."

I wearily, and wordlessly, grab the funds from my pocket and hand them over. She gladly takes them, and tells me my room is upstairs, first door on the right.

As I walk up the stairs, songs of the bard playing by the fire get stuck in my head, which I really don't mind, and the gracious smell that floated through the inn was just as welcome.

I open the door to my room, and see my bed fresh-made, with nice wooden planks lining the floors. There is a closet, not five feet from my bed, and I quickly undress and store my clothes in there. I collapse into my bed, and within two slow, calm breaths, I have wandered off to the land of dreams.

The next morning, I wake up to hear some commotion downstairs. I get up from the bed, and dress for the day. It feels pretty nice to wear normal clothes, especially when you have been wearing armor for the past month. After I stretch, I take a stroll downstairs and see the conflict in its entirety.

A middle aged man, who could be anywhere from his mid-forties to his early sixties is being escorted by two guards. The chief of the guard, named Sinmir, lies dead near the fire, a pool of blood forming near his face.

The man being escorted has defiant eyes, as well as light brown hair and a goatee. His nose seemed a bit oversized.

"The Battle-Borns will soon see glory, once again!" The man yells.

The Stormcloaks drag the man through the doors, and he nearly escapes from them. They throw him down on the stairs outside of the inn, and his face starts to bleed. I don't see the rest, as the door closes just then.

Almost everyone is gathered near Sinmir's corpse. "How did this happen?" I ask.

The innkeeper replies by saying, "The murderer- Olfrid- walked in here really calm-like. He walked behind Sinmir. All the rest is a blur. I remember Battle-Born pulling out a dagger, and that's it."

The dagger the innkeeper was telling me about was still implanted in the back of Sinmir's neck. He had fallen from the bench he was sitting on, and his mug of ale was starting to mix with his blood. The result is… quite gross.

I'm no investigator, so I just return to my room quickly, grab my armor, slip it on over my clothes, and depart back into the ruined Plains District of Whiterun.

As I head outside, I see Olfrid passed out, lying in his own pool of blood. _Well, looks like he and Sinmir have something in common, _I think.

As I walk past his unconcious form, I see the graveyard, which is relatively new. I figure, as long as I'm in Whiterun, I may as well pay my respects.

Engraved in the first tombstone are the words _Heimskr, our beloved priest of Talos. His spirit will live on in Sovngarde._ Underneath it is scrawled a couple crude words, that say "Die rebels."

The next headstone has Olfina Gray-Mane's name engraved on it, and several flowers on her grave. Also etched on it are the words, "We must suffer the winter's cold winds, for it bears aloft next summer's seed. Olfina, we will always remember you. You have honored your family."

There are a few more words, but they are unreadable, due to another couple of words carved on there. They say, "Soon, we return."

"Damn it," I say to myself. "That can't be good."

I realize I haven't had breakfast yet; luckily the stall vendors still run their ruined wooden planks. I wonder if they're really so poor that they can't repair their own stalls? If not, they really should focus on reparations soon.

With thoughts buzzing around like a swarm of bees in my head, I stop in front of a stall, run by a wood elf named Anoriath. I remember him- we became pretty good friends during my first visit to Whiterun, just a little after I became a Stormcloak.

"Ah, greetings, Tymvir! It's been a while! The last time I saw you, you were burning down the town!" He laughs cheerfully.

I feign a smile, and say "Yep, that's me. So, what's all for sale here?"

"Everything here. 10% discount for everything today, just because I'm feeling generous." He cracked a smile, and I noticed his front, lower right tooth was missing. That's odd, considering it was perfectly in place the last time I saw him. I don't question the wood elf about it, however, and just browse the wares.

"How much for this?" I ask, pointing to a venison chop.

"4 septims, my friend."

I take out the coins, and exchange them for the venison. I sit near the well and begin to eat, but then I remember what Galmar said that one night-

"_A member of the Gray-Mane clan, who's name was… Olfina, I believe? Whatever her name was, they found her dead in the Plains district yesterday all propped up against a well."_

I quietly, but quickly stand up, and head somewhere else to eat. I end up sitting on a bench near a large, dead-looking tree. I dine swiftly, and get up. _This town is a mess._ I think to myself.

I get back to the center of the Plains District, and see that Olfrid is gone. He's probably rotting down in the Dragonsreach Dungeon somewhere, waiting to be executed. That's fine by me.

Originally, I was going to leave this morning. But, compared to what I'm used to, this place is relatively calm, despite Sinmir's murder. Ulfric wouldn't notice if I'm late by one day. He probably thinks I was killed alongside Ralof. He'd have no reason to think otherwise.

Near the giant statue of Talos, a new priest has come to town. I'm not sure what his name is, but he must be pretty brave to take Heimskr's place, directly after he was murdered.

Throughout the day, I venture around the city and talk with the locals. By 3 in the afternoon, pretty much the only place in town I haven't been up close to is the Cloud District. I figure I've made a bit of a name for myself throughout Skyrim, what with my flaming sword and all, so I could probably obtain an audience with the Jarl if I really wanted to. Which, I sort of do.

I start to walk up the wooden steps to Dragonsreach, but am stopped by two guards, holding pikes. "Halt!" One says. "Commander Tymvir! You do not have the proper authorization to talk with the Jarl. You also do not seem to have made an appointment."

As I stand there, trying to think up some clever lie to get into Dragonsreach, I hear a yell behind me. Not one out of fright, but a battle cry.

"For the Legion!" I hear.

As I turn around, I see a mass of civilians in plated armor, with various weapons charging towards us. Among them are nearly all of the Battle-Born clan, along with Ulfberth and Adrianne, the merchants I got my burning sword from.

Oh, did I mention I salvaged a sword on my way to Whiterun? Not an enchanted one, no, nothing that special. But I found a burnt caravan, and I was able to recover a sword that once belonged to a nobleman.

As the citizens start to attack the guards, I'm caught in the battle, too. _I should've left when I had the chance,_ I think to myself.

Ulfberth and a young Battle-Born with long, blond hair charge at me. Two swords blur past me, as my reflexes from the Warrior Stone kick in, and I dodge them.

I kick Ulfberth in the shin, as I simultaneously parry a blow from the Battle-Born. As Ulfberth is on the ground, I get lunged at by Adrianne. I get staggered by her blow, and the Battle-Born manages to stab me in the leg. The wound is shallow, but I begin to bleed, just a little. I sidestep a horizontal swipe from Adrianne, and stab her in the stomach. She lets out a cry, then falls over, convulsing. She looks so much like… Eiruki, the way she convulses. Suddenly, I feel guilty. Then, Ulfberth, seeing his wife about to die on the ground, is filled with rage. He takes his sword, and bashes it against my forehead. I become dizzy.

The Battle-Born tries to decapitate me, but he is stopped by Ulfberth. "Idolaf! This is my fight. He killed Adrianne! I will see to his demise."

In Ulfrberth's eyes, I see a familiar rage: the kind that I felt many times throughout my life.

As my vision returns to normal, I see him try to stab me in the arm, but I deflect his blow. I tackle him, and the back of his face hits the ground- hard. It is possible that he may have cracked his skull, but he still seems to be struggling just fine.

He throws me off, and he stands up. He tries to step on my neck, but I roll out of the way. I stand up, and searing pain rushes through me as he inflicts another wound to the same area in my leg. I kick his stomach, and he steps back a little, to avoid my next blows. It saved him from a blade in the neck.

He rushes back at me, and lunges, much in the same way Adrianne did. This time, he has tackled me, and he is on top, blade at the ready.

He plunges his sword downwards, but I manage to move my head just enough so it doesn't impale my eye. I take my sword, and manage to cut through his boots, and cause him to bleed through his feet.

He is unaffected by the pain, however, and I see that as I dodge another fatal blow. I manage to stab him again- this time in the arm. He is shocked by the pain. He knows that if he stayed in this position, I would easily kill him. As such, he stands up, takes a few steps back, like before, and clutches his arm.

"Your luck has run out now," I say. I deliver a side kick to his ribs, and I think I might have broken one of them. He lets out a terrible cry of pain, and I stab him in the eye.

I turn to face Idolaf, who seems to be a novice at fighting, at least compared to Ulfberth. I only parry a single blow, then I stab him in the chest.

I look around me; a great sadness flows through me. When I fight Imperial soldiers, I feel next to no remorse. But these were civilians… people who had lives beyond the sword. What have I done?

I look around me; the guards are celebrating, giddy with joy. We have beaten the intruders. Not a single attacker escaped.

As I look at the bodies, I even see an old woman among the dead. Today, one of the oldest legacies in Whiterun has vanished, along with those who are the only reason we won the battle for Falkreath, the only reason I'm still alive.

I throw down my sword and walk away slowly. Ahead of me, a continuation of my jourey to liberate Skyrim. Behind me, shattered memories and fallen legacies.

**Hope you liked it! Sorry for the delay, I've had a lot of homework lately. Also, just a tip- remember the four basic needs for life. Food, water, sleep, and reviewing! You wouldn't want to neglect any one of those would you? No, you should always eat, drink, sleep, and review! You got that? Good.**


	16. Revelation

**Thanks to simonstormcloak for the review! Don't worry, Jon didn't die (he's not a major character, and he's my favorite Battle-Born). simonstormcloak once again gave me an awesome idea, so I definitely owe him! Thanks! Basically, this whole chapter is based around the idea he gave me.**

"How much for a ride?" I ask. I stand on the outskirts of Whiterun, still bloody from the battle. The sun is low in the sky, but not enough for the moons to show. It's humid out, and it causes me to sweat a bit, combined with the exercise I got in the battle.

I'm waiting for a carriage; I want out of Whiterun asap.

"Depends," the carriage driver says. He's of the Imperial race, so I'm getting a negative impression from him already. "Where, exactly, do you want to go?"

"Windhelm." I say.

The driver just stares at me. "I don't get fares to Windhelm very often. The ride takes weeks, and that's if I have perfectly smooth travels. The fare is 350 septims."

I get out my coin purse, and hand him almost my whole month's pay. He admires the coin for a second, almost seeming to be lost in his little fantasy. Great, he's an Imperial, and now he's greedy too? This is going to be a long ride.

He snaps out of his own little trance, and turns to me and says, "Alright. Get in the back, and make yourself comfortable. We don't stop until noon tomorrow.

I do as he says, and drop my armor near my seat. The carriage is definitely run-down; the wood has several cracks in it, and the bench protests at my sitting. There's a foul smell, from what I don't know. It's a bigger mystery than how he gets any business.

I get out a book from my bag, and start to read. Some of the words are still a bit confusing; I was taught to read and write when I was entering my teens, but I never truly excelled at either. Not like those stuck-up Imperials; they always pride themselves on such trivial matters such as being able to read books proficiently. Unlike us Nords, who pride ourselves on more important things, like being scucessful on a battlefield.

As we ride, the driver makes a few attempts at small conversation. "So, traveler. Where are you from?" He asks.

"Helgen." I bluntly say, and return to my book.

"Oh." The driver is then silent, and a smirk crosses my face. It's nice to shut up an Imperial every once and a while.

I remember my horse, Shadowsnow. I lost her a while back, after we took Whiterun, and now I'm wishing I had been a bit more responsible. Oh well.

After a while, I realize the carriage driver is actually trying to be friendly, no matter how greedy or dignified he may be. Well, actually, scratch that second part. He hasn't really tried to act like he's above me, just because I'm a Nord. Maybe I can be friends with him. It would be nice to have a friend who probably won't die soon.

"So, what's your name?" I ask.

"My name is Albeci. What about you?"

"I'm Tymvir. Where are you from?"

"Me? I was technically born in the Imperial family, but my family and I moved to the city of Cheydinhal right before the elves sacked it in the Great War. I was around 7 when that happened. We returned a few years later, almost directly after the end of the war, only to find an empty lot where our home had been. From there, it was a rough life. One night, when I was about 13, we found my older sibling… dead, in an alley. The rats barely left enough for us to bury." He stopped talking, took a drink of water from a canteen, and continued.

"The rest of us survived into adulthood. My little brother had a few close calls, as well as the rest of us, but we were one of the closest familys in Cyrodiil by the end of it."

"So what brought you to Skyrim?" I ask.

"Cyrodiil was full of bad memories for me. I just wanted to get away. And thus, I ended up here."

Wow. I was half-expecting an "I am rich and noble," but this is about as far as that as you can get. When I think about it, we both have that one thing in common- although different misfortunes befell us in our childhoods, they still ended up creating less-than-perfect adults.

By now, the moon was about halfway up in the sky. It was probably around nine at night. I become bored, and put my book away. I turn to Albeci, and say- "So, you're a carriage driver. You must've heard tons of good stories. What's one of them?"

"Have you heard of Akavir?" Albeci asks.

"Yes, I have. Home of the Akaviri, and nearly no-one in Tamriel knows anything about it."

"That's the place. Well, one day I was driving this fellow to Riverwood, who spoke with a deep, funny accent. Unlike anything I've heard before. I forgot what led up to this conversation, but the man told me this story of Akavir. I doubt he's actually been there, but his description was pretty vivid.

He told me there's this school in Akavir that teaches the art of magic. The five schools that we of Tamriel know- Destruction, Restoration, Conjuration, Illusion, and Alteration were taught there. Primarily, he talked about the school of Illusion. There was this branch of it called- I forget what it's called. It was some long and confusing word- legilimancy, or something like that. It focuses on the reading of other people's minds. Apparently, this used to be taught in Tamriel, particularly in the Summerset Isles, but it ended up being shunned and looked down upon, along with the mages who practiced it. I'm not sure how it's any worse than forcing your enemies to attack each other, or turning them into your thrall, but apparently this magic was abused, often being used on the innocent, for amusement. It started off with smaller things, like pranking friends, but gradually, the magic got darker and darker, being used in eviler and eviler ways.

Eventually, the magic of mind-reading was banned here in Tamriel, but it's said that it was still practiced intensively in Akavir. There would be mages who focused particularly on this one school, and many would use it for evil purposes, such as torture.

These mages became Akavir's main window into the outside world, as they could discreetly find out about Tamriel and Atmora, without drawing too much attention. The man also said that, when someone is breaching your mind, you get this weird tingling sensation behind your eyes, unlike aything else.

He also talked about a branch of the Conjuration school, that was rather controversial, and banned alongside mind-reading. Apparently, before this magic was banned, there was a branch of necromancy, which, instead of drawing on your magicka to raise the dead, it would draw upon your life force. As the dead were raised, your own life would be drained from you, transferring it instead to the reanimated subject.

As you probably know, the necromancy enthralls the dead in order for them to serve you. However, the reason this particular branch of necromancy was banned, was because, instead of temporarily enthralling the subject before they turned to ashes, this branch permanently enthralled them to you- if you survive the ritual, that is. This branch permanently took up a portion of your energy, and caused the dead to be your thrall for as long as you live.

The worst part was, instead of travelling to the plane of Aetherius, the immortal plane, after the magic-user died, the dead would fall into Oblivion instead, usually within Mehrunes Dagon's Deadlands, or Malog Bal's plane- I forget what it's called. They both were terrible- The Deadlands were just eternal torture, while Malog's realm was an post-apocalyptic version of Tamriel.

To me, this sounds like a bunch of junk, but make what you will of it."

I let this float around my head a bit, then realize how terrible it must be for the enthralled. It would be like what the torturer did to me, except lasting forever.

Wait a second…

Torture. Mind-reading. The torturer's words repeat themselves in my head, clear as ever. _Eiruki will be waiting for you…_

The funny-accented man, whoever he was, most likely was not lying. Maybe the torturer was trained in this school, over in Akavir, and hired by the Legion because of this.

Interesting.

"It's not junk." I blurt out.

Albeci chuckles, then asks- "What makes you think that?"

I recount the whole story of being captured by the Legion, beginning with their attack on our mountain camp, and ending with my killing of the torturer.

"And you're sure you aren't making this up?" He asks.

"I'm sure. Look, I even have the scars to prove it."

He turns around and faces me, and notices the large scars on either of my cheeks, both created when the torturer twisted the Pear of Anguish.

"Wow… I've never heard of any other stories about mind-reading, but… I almost believe you. And I'm a carriage driver- I've heard just about every story under the twin moons, and it's hard to make me believe anything. But this…"

He stares off into the sky, contemplating the truth of the story I just presented. I hear neighing off in the distance, and soon I see a berserk horse rushing down the road, directly towards us. "Watch out!" I yyell to Albeci, and he swerves away just in time to avoid a head-on collision with the beast. Unfortunately, I get launched from my seat, and my head is bashed against the seat across from mine. "Agh!" I yell as pain rushes throughout my forehead.

I manage to get back in my seat, but now I have a serious migraine. Looking out from the back of the carriage, I see the moons nearly above me. It's almost midnight.

"Sorry about that," Albeci says, surprisingly apologetically.

"Eh, don't worry about it," I reply. "I'll be going to sleep, so try not to wake me up."

I doze off, and I enter restful sleep for a while, before another nightmare fills my presence

_Tymvir heard the shouts of war around him. What was happening? He stood in a small town, the sound of warfare flowing through his ears. He was being attacked by a figure whom's face Tymvir could not see; his face was hidden behind a helmet. A battleaxe tried to cut off Tymvir's head, but ducking saved figure across from him was wearing Stormcloak gear as well, all the more unsettling to Tymvir. The Commander didn't take kindly to traitors, however. He stabbed the figure between the neck and shoulder. As the figure fell, Tymvir heard a cry from a soldier behind him. "Protect Morthal! Stand your ground at all costs!" As the Commander turned around,the vision faded._

I wake up with sweat running down my face like a waterfall, my eyes strained. My headache is worse than ever.

"Bad dream?" Albeci asks.

"You could say that," I answer.

I see the sun starting to rise in the sky, its presence slowly lightening the sky's dark shade of blue. An early morning chillness fills the sky around me, causing me to shiver. I breathe in the pleasant air, the smell that occurs after a rainstorm flowing in through my nostrils. Outside, I see dew on the grass, and the road's surface has water running across it. The sky above me is cloudy, signaling that it has not been too long since the rain that must've happened stopped.

"So, where are we stopping?" I ask.

"Today, we'll be stopping in a small settlement, founded near High Hrothgar. I forget what it's called, but I remember getting it confused with Ivarstead. You heard of Ivastead?" Albeci wonders.

"Yes, I have. I've been there before, but only briefly."

"Nice little town, isn't it? I wouldn't mind moving there, away from all the fools I have to deal with. It would be nice, I could get a job there… maybe as a lumberjack, or a bard? Ah, but you're probably wondering what the settlement we're stopping at is called. It has a rather boring name- Hrothgar Village. Whoever named it has no creativity," He notes.

"After we stop at Hrothgar Village, where will we stop at next?" I ask.

"Probably out in the wilderness somewhere. With Hrothgar Village we're lucky it was founded so close to Whiterun, but with Ivarstead, we're nowhere near as fortunate."

I stare ahead, and admire Skyrim's beauty in its purest form: nature. Rain drops from leaves on pine trees surrounding us, and a rabbit nibbles on a piece of grass. I see a sole cabin out in the distance, and I imagine how lonely the inhabitant, or inhabitants of that house must be. I wonder if they're even alive.

As I occupy my time through various methods, including reading and talking with Albeci, the sun slowly rises.

At around 11:00, I hear the carriage driver say- "I'm getting weary."

"Well, hang in there. Not too much more ahead of us."

Sure enough, about an hour later, we pull into the aforementioned town. It seems to be in the middle of nowhere, much like the cabin I saw earlier. The buildings are all made of logs, and it is almost completely surrounded by pine trees.

"Why would anyone build a village here?" I ask.

"Because of carriages. You see, this area seems to be filled to the brim with wolves and bears- before this town was founded, many carriages would go missing out here in these woods. They made this village as a safe haven from the wildlife."

The town looks nice enough.

We pull in, and three fully armed Imperials greet us with war cries.

**Yay, I made a new chapter quickly! Don't get used to it, though. I had nothing to do today, so I've been listening to music and writing this chapter all day. Now I've got about a million metal songs stuck in my head.**

**Review! Because you're a good person, right?**


	17. Hrothgar Village

**I want to go out, don't know if I can, 'cause I'm so scared of the Tommyknocker man! I'm loving that book so far. Anyway, thanks to hylian981 and simonstormcloak for the reviews! I thank you for the free cheese, simonstormcloak! And to hylian981, yes I do like decapitating people! It's just an easy way to kill people, without going into a whole ton of detail. To BDLG: Thanks, but really, I ripped off the word on the tombstone from in-game. Also, I think I am going to release a sequel to Clad in Blue eventually! A third book is also possible, but I'm not so sure about that.**

Albeci runs; I fight with my fists. A man tries to stab me, but I quickly grab his arm, and twist it. He cries out in pain, just as I roll under another sword. I punch a soldier in the face, then quickly back away from his sword, aimed at my neck.

Behind the third Imperial soldier, I see Albeci has snuck back into the fight. With a devious smile, he twists the Imperial's neck. Poor sod never saw it coming.

He tosses the sword to me, and I use it to parry a blow aimed at my chest. I quickly disarm the soldier engaged in combat with me, and toss his sword to Albeci.

We both close in on the man, and blood practically spouts out of his mouth, as swords protrude from his chest and neck. His lifeless eyes stare ahead at the sky, as he falls to the ground.

With a bit of a struggle, I manage to rip my sword out of his neck, although the soldier's blood spatters my armor and face.

The last soldier is cowering. He starts to run away, but Albeci and I run up to him, and quickly dispose of him.

"So, Albeci, what was that about?" I ask, as I pull my new sword out of the last soldier's back.

"I may be of the Imperial race, but that doesn't mean I support the Imperial _army._"

"How come?" I ask him.

"The Thalmor destroyed my home. The Imperial army submitted to them. I harbor no support for either now. Not that I supported the Thalmor before."

"So, where do we go first?" I ask him.

"How about the inn? A drink would be a nice way to refresh- at least in my opinion."

"Sounds good."

We walk down the cobblestone pathway throughout the town, wooden shacks lining the grassy areas near it. The inn is large building on the exterior; pristine wooden planks make up the walls, and there is a pleasant little porch, under a wooden awning in the front.

Albeci and I walk up the stairs, with me in the lead. "So, who was in charge here the last time you visited Hrothgar Village? Stormcloaks, or Imperials?"

"Neither. This town was supposed to be neutral- that was some sort of unspoken agreement between the two armies. To tell the truth, I'm not really sure why, but whatever the reason is, the Imperial army dishonored the agreement."  
"Figures," I reply, as I open the door.

Inside, a gruesome sight awaits us; Bodies are piled up in the burning fire, most of which are decomposed, but a few still show the pained faces of the recently deceased. At the very bottom, I see a child, who was obviously crying just before he died.

"By the gods…" I mutter.

From one of the rooms, I hear a clear, resonant voice say- "Did you hear that?"

From three rooms, around a dozen enemy soldiers flood into this lobby, and charge us without warning. A pike gets thrown at me, and I move out of the way, the weapon lodging itself in the wall of the inn. I charge towards the man who launched the pike, and lunge at him. I manage to stab him in the neck while he's down.

A sword swipes across my back, and makes a bit of a dent in my armor. I still have the hole in my armor from Whiterun, when I was nearly killed by the fast soldier. I really need to get this repaired.

I get up, and try to slice the neck of the man who dented my armor. He deflects it with a clever positioning of the sword, and kicks my armor in the stomach area, which almost knocks the wind out of me, but otherwise, has no effect.

I start another blow to his neck, but quickly change to a disarming tactic. A quick movement with my sword works, and his sword flips out of his hand, and it falls down, next to my feet. I stab the man in his stomach, and he falls limply.

Albeci is more than handling himself; he has probably killed around 5 enemies so far. I watch as he kicks his opponent in the knee, and, while the enemy soldier cries in pain, a movement of the sword ends the sod's life.

Four left. Two attacking me, two Albeci. As I disarm another soldier, and almost simultaneously decapitate him, the other legionnaire gets down and kneels. "I… I submit," He says. "Please… please spare me." His brown eyes tear up, and his plea comes out as a hoarse croak, and more words continually spill out of his mouth. "Please, I have a family, a home, in Cyrodiil, don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill-" His ramble is interrupted by my direct refusal of his last request, my sword stabbing through his open mouth.

A groan is heard, and the limp body of the legionnaire falls next to me, his blood sprinkled throughout the blade used to impale him. I turn to Albeci, who has defeated his last two assailants. He walks towards me, and says- "So, fancy a drink? It's on the house."

We both chuckle a bit, then I accept the offer. We sheathe our swords, but keep them at the ready- just in case. The bar stools are all overturned, and we pick two up.

"Just a second," I say.

I walk behind the bar counter. "Honningbrew or Black-Briar?" I ask.

"Black-Briar." Albeci replies.

"Hey, wait a second," I say. "I found some Black-Briar Reserve! Three whole bottles of the stuff. You want one of those instead?"

"No, that stuff's too strong. I had it once, woke up… what, 5 days later? Yeah, the normal Black-Briar will work."

I give him his bottle, and I grab a bottle of Honningbrew Mead.

"You ever been to Helgen?" I ask.

"Yes, a couple of times," Albeci replies as he takes a sip of mead.

"You tried Vilod's mead? Spiced with juniper berry. The stuff was the best in all of Skyrim; no doubt about that. Worst part about the utter destruction of the place."

"Vilod's mead? Yes, I remember that. The only thing that made the village to Helgen worthwile. Say, think we should check around the inn for more legionnaires before we get drunk?"

"Wasn't planning on becoming drunk, but I suppose that might be a good idea, just in case."

We check the first room; blood runs across it, but even after a thorough investigation, and a few spilled drops of mead, we leave, and do the same for the other rooms.

The fourth room we come across, we see a Redguard man hiding near the bed. He pulls out a dagger, and advances towards us, an angry and paranoid expression on his face. He has tan skin; much like most Redguards, and the same hazel eyes. He has a buzz cut, and a rather large nose.

"Who are you? Get out." He bluntly orders.

I start to reach for my sword, but Albeci wordlessly pulls my arm away from my sheathe. I take this as a sign that diplomacy is a better option here.

"Relax," I say. "We're not legionnaires. See, I've got the armor to prove it," I reply, indicating my blue set of armor that I wear.

He bares his teeth. "You didn't answer my question." He talks in a fast tone, almost to the point of being incomprehensible. "Once again- who are you?"

"I'm Tymvir," I say. "This is Albeci. Now, who are you?"

He lowers his dagger a little, and also slows down his talking some. "I-I'm sorry. My name's Tralen. I was going to Ivarstead to visit my family when… this happened," he states, as he points to the fire full of bodies, still barely visible from here.

"So, what exactly happened?" I ask.

"I walked into the inn, was going to get a room for the night. Got a glass of water, entered my room, and spent some time sharpening my weapons- I'm quite the tinkerer, you see. As I was polishing this dagger-" he stops, in order to hold up his blade, which was indeed very sharp, and very shiny. He lowers it back down to his side.

He continues, saying, "I heard some noises outside of the inn. I ignored them, but then I heard a myriad of footsteps, and the door bursting open. I thought it was a bandit attack, and tried to cut a way out of this wall." He stops, and points to the wall near the bed, which has some distinctive cuts spread across it, especially near the floor.

"As you can see, that was very impossible. I ended up just sitting here, hiding as best as I can- which isn't really possible in this room. I was picking away at the door, when I saw the Imperial colors and men storming the place. I watched as-" he stumbles. "I watched as they dragged the innkeeper, a Nord named Loronr, over to the fire. I almost intervened, but my courage left me at the last second. I couldn't do it. I was petrified. You get the point.

So, after they massacred everyone else, they started checking rooms for survivors. I'm thankful you got here when you did, otherwise I might have been thrown into the fire as well," he finishes.

"Do you know why the Imperial army was storming this inn?" Albeci asks Tralen.

"Well, no, not exactly. But there were… rumors going around. Back before this happened, my friend, Farmin, who was travelling with me, said that he thought Imperials were going to take over this village. Apparently, it would be a good hiding spot to retake Whiterun from. I, personally, just thought Farmin was stupid this whole time- he said stuff like this all the time. But this time, he was correct. There are probably more soldiers throughout the town. I can't help you fight them; I haven't seen my family in a long time, and I can't imagine how terribly they would fare without me. Here's my advice; get out of here. Fast. No matter how fast you run, how sharp your sword is, numbers overwhelm. Go to wherever you're going, and don't look back."

I want to argue with Tralen on this point; after all, I can't just let the Imperials take over the city; I'm a Stormcloak Commander after all. But before I can open my mouth, Albeci turns to me and makes a slight, serious shake with his head. It's almost as if he were saying _Don't do it._

"Thanks for the advice, and have a safe journey to Ivarstead," I say.

"And wherever you're going, have safe travels," Tralen replies.

"We're actually going to Ivarstead as well," Albeci reports. "By carriage. You can come too, if you want."

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'm going this one alone," Tralen kindly answers.

"Good-bye then," I say.  
"Good-bye."

We all walk out of the inn, Albeci and I downing the last of our bottles of mead. We toss them aside, and go to the carriage.

"Albeci, are you sure we shouldn't stay? The legionnaires might take back Whiterun if we leave."

"You're not a one-man army. Sure, you're stronger than most men, but even Talos would be defeated if he were forced to face a whole army."

"I suppose you're right. Still, we need to travel quickly. Ulfric needs to hear about this."

"Ulfric Stormcloak? The leader of the rebellion? I knew you were a Stormcloak, but you actually _know_ him? That's unusual."

"I'm a commander for the Stormcloak army. Things like that tend to get you in contact with Ulfric."

"I see."

I sit back down on the old bench, which once again protests my seating, then realize;

"Albeci, don't you need sleep? You didn't get any at the inn-"

"And I won't be getting any. Not until we're far away from this wreck. I'm tired, but II can't sleep here; I must be secure to sleep. I'd end up lying in bed for hours, wide awake."

With that, the carriage starts moving. The horses, which are both white, seem to be well-rested. I guess while everyone was dying, they decided it would be a good idea to take a nap.

We move as fast as we can, and soon are out of Hrothgar Village. The mountain for which the village is named towers over us; yet it is still a large amount of miles away. The monastery on High Hrothgar is visible as a speck, at least compared to the rest of the mountain.

Who built that monastery? The area is so inhospitable, it would seem impossible to survive for long enough to build such a grand monument. Maybe it was Kynareth herself. I will probably never know.

Above the monastery is a hazy, white mist. What lies at the top of the mountain? The Throat of the World, as it's called. The mist might hide some of the world's greatest mysteries, or it may just be a mist covering up the peak of the mountain. Oh, how my imagination runs.

But then I start to entertain my thoughts, just because no one around can hear them- or at least hope. I haven't received any tingling feelings since Markarth, so I figure my thoughts will only be own. At least for now.

My thoughts wander off on the subject of the peak of the mountain, and several theories pop into my head- theories that I would never believe for a second. Such as the peak being home to the Nordic Pantheon. Talos, sitting in his mighty throne, the others sitting in their own, directly influencing the world around them.

_What are you _thinking _Tymvir?_ I ask myself.

My wild fantasies are interrupted by Albeci's voice. "You're ready to arrive in Windhelm, aren't you?" he asks.

"More than ever," I reply.

**I hope you enjoyred this chapter! Oh, what am I saying- of course you did! After all, who could hate the stories made by purdy ole me? Review! Please? **


	18. Albeci's Induction

**Listening to an ensemble of Metallica music! AWESOMENESS! Anyway, thanks to simonstormcloak and hylian981 for the reviews! We might see more of the Redguard, but to be honest, I'm not completely sure we will. Also, thanks for pointing out the typo! I usually make a couple typos per chapter, just because I forget to proofread a lot. Also, I'm skipping all the way to Windhelm, just because I don't have any ideas for Ivarstead. One last thing: Just a little bit of trivia. I was actually planning on making Valund the Dragonborn when I started this story, but it looks like that's not happening!**

As I take my first step in Windhelm, I come to a bitter realization- it's cold. Of course, it's always cold in Windhelm. But never _this_ cold. Even I, with my Nord blood built to resist the cold, am freezing. My teeth are chattering. I need to get inside- this weather could potentially provoke hypothermia or frostbite.

Albeci has it worse- he looks as if he might fall over any second. He came with me, wanting to apply to join for the Stormcloaks. "But aren't you a carriage driver?" I had asked him. "Not anymore," he had replied.

His enthusiasm seemed to be quickly fading away, to be replaced with ice's cold grasp. I look around, for some sort of shelter. Ahead, I see Candlehearth Hall- Windhelm's inn. In front of the stone steps that lead up to the twin doors allowing entrance to the place is a sign depicting one larger candle, and another, smaller one on either side of it. There is what seems to be a halo wrapped around the candles, and etched above the halo is the name of the inn.

As I walk up the steps, and enter the building with Albeci, I try to recall the backstory of the inn. Elda Early-Dawn is the innkeeper here, and I used to be pretty good friends with her. She had told me the story behind the inn on a cold day like this one.

"_Well, when this was built, it was home to a warrior named Vundheim. He lived back when the Fourth Era was first beginning. He died in 4E 38, and his son, Deroct, lit a candle to remember his father. The candle was placed on top of the building, and it never burnt out. That phenomenon is how this inn got its name."_

I see her, behind the bar, waiting to serve drinks and rent rooms to people. Not many people are drinking anything; no surprise there. Two barstools are positioned in front of the bar. Behind Elda is a shelf, consisting of several potions and mead bottles.

There is a hallway near the lobby that leads to several rooms for rent. As Albeci and I sit in the two barstools, he starts to recover. The warmth of the fire from upstairs just barely radiates down here, but it's enough to start to restore color to his face.

"Tymvir! It's so nice to see you again! It's been so long!" Elda exclaims.

"It's nice to see you too, Elda," I reply.

"I'd like to rent two rooms," Albeci states.

"That will be twenty septims, sir," Elda says.

Albeci retrieves the required funds from a coin purse strapped to a belt, and I recognize it as the money I originally paid for the carriage ride.

Elda takes the money, and starts to guide us to our rooms. "Right this way, sirs," she says.

We follow her lead. Albeci has the first room on the left; mine is directly across from his. It's really quite pathetic, to tell the truth. I have a house not 10 minutes from here, yet it's too cold to even walk that far.

I enter my room, which is very tidy. There is a bed on the left side of the room, tucked into the far corner. Its sheets are nicely arranged. There is a dark, mahogany bookshelf a yard or two away from the bed, which is lined from top to bottom with tomes, novels, and tales. There is a chandelier hanging from the middle of the room, the wax of the candles contained within hollowed out horker tusks. A chest is located at the foot of my bed, which I presume is empty. Last but not least, there is a closet on the right side of the room, in the corner nearest to the door.

I immediately take off my armor, leaving me in my light-green shirt, laced together with a tannish vest. My shorts are the same shade of green, and go down to my knees. I would guess it's about 5 in the afternoon, and I am starting to get hungry.

I walk back into the lobby, and take a seat in one of the barstools again. "What's on the menu?" I ask.

"Hmm…" Elda starts. "Today, we seem to have an overabundance of venison stew. It's 5 septims."

"I'll take it," I reply, and grab from my pocket what little money I have left. The money shortly lets out a golden glint before Elda pockets it. The stew is handed over to me. I take it, and go upstairs, where all the socialization happens.

In the center of the room, there is a stone fireplace, with the fire burning with an orange glow. I know from memory that on the opposite side of the fireplace, there is the candle that this inn was named for, still burning atop the warm flames of the hearth.

I take a seat near the far end of the room, and I can see the Palace of the Kings from the window. I wish I could be there now, to warn Ulfric about the Imperials and Hrothgar Village. _Tomorrow,_ I think. _Tomorrow, I'll warn everyone._

I slowly slurp down my stew. Whoever is the cook here does a very good job; I'm normally not a huge fan of stew, but this definitely raises my spirits.

I finish my stew, and leave the bowl on the table. _Eh, I'm sure there must be someone to pick this up,_ I tell myself.

Over the next few hours, I converse with the other visitors to the inn. Most of them are travelers, a few even hailing from areas such as Cyrodiil and Morrowind.

When it reaches about nine o' clock, I head down to my room. I change out of my clothes, into some black robes I own. I collapse into my bed, anticipating tomorrow. My last thoughts before I drift off are about my house taxes.

_A world of nonsense spun around Tymvir, whom was unable to make out any of it. Screams were heard, blood was flying, soldiers fell. As Tymvir fell onto the ground, his vision stopped spinning. Elves. This land was full of them. Unnatural lightning flew throughout the battlefield, artificial ice freezing men. Swords and axes were no match for the magic that was pitted up against them._

_The hardened Stormcloak got up, ran into battle once again. The men around him were all clad in the blue garb of the Stormcloaks; on the other side of the battlefield, black robes and hoods clothed the enemy. Tymvir stood near Albeci, whom was also clad in blue. _

_Tymvir's vision blurred, death, screaming, and pain being the last things he heard._

Sweat runs down my face as I wake up. This dream… or nightmare, I should say- was not of the past. _Just another nightmare… _I tell myself. _Just another nightmare…_

I wipe away the sleep from my eyes, and sit up. It feels rather chilly in the room, but that's mainly because my robes don't provide much warmth. Looking through the window outside tells me it's around six in the morning. I go to the closet, and change into my last set of clothing: a dark blue shirt, with laces near the top. The pants reach down to my feet, and I leave my room.

I don't have any money for breakfast- great. Maybe when Albeci wakes up, I can ask him to get me some. I also don't want to leave for the Palace of the Kings quite yet; Albeci wants to apply to join them Stormcloaks today, and things would most likely be a lot simpler if we went at the same time.

I realize I have nothing to do, just standing out here. So I walk back into my room real quick, and grab a book from the bookshelf. The title is _Death Blow of Abernanit_. I remember it from my teenage years- before I left for this city, I had read it to tatters. It was a Dark Elf poem about the Battle of Abernanit, one of House Dagoth's strongholds. Sure, it wasn't about Skyrim, or Nords, or anything like that- but it was so well-written, I, as I said before, read it to the point where the pages were ripped, the cover worn. Unfortunately, this copy looks almost as bad; the cover seems to have a few stains from spills on it, and most of the pages look as if a toddler had gotten hold of them.

Parts of it are still readable, however, and I thoroughly enjoy what I can read.

_Broken battlements and wrecked walls_

_Where worship of the Horror once embraced._

_The bites of fifty winters frost and wind_

_Have cracked and pitted the unholy gates,_

_And brought down the cruel,_

From here, it is unreadable, but I remember the next few sentences. I finish off this sentence with flawless continuation:

_obscene spire._

_All is dust, and nothing is more than dust._

_The blood has dried, and all the screams have echoed out._

Within a few minutes, I finish the poem. I put it back on its shelf, and browse for another book. I see four books placed next to each other, and from left to right, they are: _Beggar, Thief, Warrior, and King_. I had read both Beggar and Thief when I was a child, but I had never gotten around to reading the latter two. The books were all in a series, so I take Warrior off of its shelf.

I read for a couple of hours, and when the sun has risen above the horizon, I put the book away. My stomach is now growling, hungry for food. I open my door, and see Albeci is already sitting at one of the barstools.

I walk into the room, and take a seat in the other barstool. I ask Albeci if I can have a few septims for breakfast, and he accepts my request. He hands 8 septims to me, which I gladly take. I buy half a loaf of bread, a slice of eidar cheese, and some beef.

"Eidar cheese? Really?" Albeci asks me, as I put together my sandwich.

"I don't know a single person who can stomach it," I reply. "But I find it delicious."

Albeci is eating some stew, much like what I had last night. We talk over breakfast, and soon we are finished.

"I'm ready to go to the Palace," Albeci tells me.

"Alright. Let me just get some armor on. It sort of serves as my badge of office."

"I'll wait outside, by the door."

I vanish into my room, and quickly slip my armor on over my clothes. I then run outside to meet with Albeci.

Outside, it is a bit foggy, and still cold, but not as bad as it was yesterday. The sky is almost invisible, hidden by thin clouds that stretch across it. There are a few gaps in the clouds, however, and I can see that the sky is a very light shade of blue.

Albeci and I walk through town, headed towards the palace. It's a good walk, maybe around 15-20 minutes from the inn.

We pass a male beggar along the way, wearing a ragged tunic that looks as if it couldn't protect him from the cold at all. Albeci fishes through his coin purse, and hands a whole 40 septims to the panhandler. "Buy yourself some clothes to keep you warm," he says. The beggar's green eyes flash with delight at the gold, and he manages to say a few words of thanks to Albeci. "T-t-thank you, kind sir! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" With that, the beggar runs off, presumably to a clothing store.

Albeci and I reach the Palace of the Kings a few minutes later, and we are stopped by a single guard. "Halt!" He orders. Then he sees my face, and he recognizes who I am. He salutes me, and says "Commander Tymvir! I was not expecting to see you here! Go on, right ahead! But what is this man doing here?" He asks, pointing to Albeci.

"He wants to join the Stormcloaks." I say.

The guard laughs, and replies, saying "He's an Imperial. Why would _he_, of all people, want to become a Stormcloak?"

"Because the Imperial army destroyed his home."

"Well, alright then…" The guard says doubtfully. He steps aside, and allows me to enter the Palace.

2 blue carpets line the stone floor, with a large dining table stretching in between them. Steps lead up to Ulfric's throne, embroidered with the colors of the Stormcloak clan: blue and yellow.

Stormcloak is sitting in his throne, and when he sees me enter, a priceless look of pure shock crosses his face. I can't help but laugh, and the laughter spreads to Ulfric as well.

I approach his throne, and stop before the steps. "Well, I'm back." I say.

"This is good! I thought for sure you were killed on the mountain! What happened?" Stormcloak asks.

I recount a full, lengthy description of everything that happened to me, starting with the battle on the mountain, and ending with my arrival in Windhelm.

"Well, like I said before, it is good you are alive. And the Imperial… Albeci, is it? Why do you want to join the Stormcloaks?"

Albeci then recounts his own story of his upbringing, and the destruction of his home, with a story that is shorter than mine, but still pretty long.

"I remember that day…" Ulfric says. "I fought in the battle, you know. I nearly died, and I thought I had failed all men when the mer took the city. Anyway, in order to join us Stormcloaks, there will be an oath you must take. An oath bound by honor, and blood."

"Blood?" Albeci asks.

"Yes, blood. Nothing fatal, or even harmful, just enough to show that you will bleed for Skyrim's freedom."

"Alright. Where will I be cut?"

"The palm of your hand. But, before that, you must recite the oath I just mentioned."

"Very well."

"Repeat after me.

'I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak,

Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim.'"

Albeci repeats these words, and Stormcloak says the next part of the oath.

"As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond…

Even to my lord as well as my brothers and sisters in arms."

Albeci says these words.

"All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons

And daughters of Skyrim!"

Albeci finishes the oath, and then holds his hand out.

Ulfric silently draws a dagger, and implants it into Albeci's palm. He seems to be hiding his pain- probably eager to impress Stormcloak.

As the dagger is removed from Albeci's hand, a line of crimson blood oozes out from his wound. He smiles, for his oath is complete. I remember undergoing the same ritual some time ago. I wasn't nearly as good at hiding my pain. I'm pretty sure Ulfric remembers it. It was… one of a kind.

Then, Albeci retrieves his coin purse and tosses it to me. "That's the money you paid to ride the carriage here. Minus the costs at the inn, and giving to the beggar, of course."

"You sure?" I ask. "This money is rightfully yours."

"Not so. If I had not drove here, I would most likely still be a carriage driver back at Whiterun. That was the most boring job ever, and it seems you got me out of it."

After we're finished talking, Ulfric tells Albeci his armor should be ready within 5 days.

Then I remember the reason _I_ came here.

"My Jarl, there is another matter I must discuss."

A curious look crosses the Jarl's face. "And that is?"

"Have you heard of Hrothgar Village?"

"Yes, I have. A little outpost for carriages, if I recall correctly."

"Legionnaires slaughtered all the residents, and we believe they are going to try to retake Whiterun."

"_All_ the residents?"

"All, except for one. A Redguard, named Tralenn survived the attack."

"Well, it seems I know what Albeci's first assignment will be." Ulfric says. "Albeci, your armor will be forged within a day, and then you are going to Hrothgar Village. Oh, andgGet some rest. You'll need it."

**Hope you liked it! Albeci is personally one of my favorite characters, so I figured, what better way to keep him in the story than to induct him into the Stormcloaks? Anyway, review!**


	19. On the Road Again! Part 1

**Thanks for the reviews! To BDLG: Glad you liked the spiced mead part! In-game, I like to return to Helgen every once in a while, just to take the mead! Also, thanks, I put a lot of work into painting the mental image of a freezing Windhelm! And to hylian981: Thanks for the idea! It might show up in the story in a few chapters! And finally, to simonstormcloak: I don't think Albeci will be the Dragonborn, but I guess it could be a possibility.**

It's around noon. The skies are clear, which is good. The last few days we've been subject to heavy rain, and it even claimed a couple of lives.

My horse, which was granted to me by Ulfric Stormcloak, is pure white, and seems to be brimming with energy. I lead a battalion of men, and the army stretches all the way back to the horizon. You see, Ulfric plans to finish the war on this trip. He wants to kill the Imperials plotting to attack Whiterun. Then, he wants to go _all the way_ to Markarth, take it, then take Morthal, and then, finally end our military campaign with a spectacular showdown at Solitude. Seems to me impatience got the best of him. If we go with his plan, we'll be attacking Solitude with 10 men, or something along those lines.

I'd figure right now, we're about halfway between Windhelm and Whiterun, and I can see High Hrothgar in the distance. I remember my thoughts from the last time I passed the mountain. _Maybe the tip of High Hrothgar is Aetherius, or something. _One day, I'll have to pay a visit to the Greybeards on the mountain, and ask them about that. If anyone would know, it would be them.

A few wild horses graze in the distance, seemingly unbothered by the massive horde of soldiers passing through.

I pat the right side of my waist real quick. My sword is still there- well, the one I took from the legionnaire in Hrothgar Village. It hits me that I may never see _my_ sword again. I do miss it.

On my right, Galmar is riding another horse, his being dark brown. On my left, Ulfric rides, his horse almost identical to Galmar's, but a slightly lighter shade of brown.

My back is starting to seriously ache. My stop in Windhelm was the only real rest that I've had since I stopped in Whiterun (even if I did wake up and find a dead body by the fire).

"Who do you think Gray-Mane is going to choose as the new captain of the guard?" I ask Ulfric.

He shrugs his shoulders, and says, "I really don't know. I don't really know Whiterun too well, except that it was fun to blow up the front gate."

Suddenly, a little thought enters my head. "How does one Shout?" I ask.

"Excuse me?"

"How do I Shout? You know… project the Voice?"

"I could tell you, but it would take months to master even the most basic of Shouts. If you really want to learn the voice, you should go see the Greybeards. However, they don't usually accept visitors."

"Well, how do _you_ Shout?" I ask.

"Me? I focus on the word's meaning. Take _Fus_ for example. It means "Force". To learn a Shout, you have to take the meaning _into _yourself. You have to… how do I put this? You have to _become_ the Shout. See, watch." Stormcloak then turns his head up towards the air. "_Fus!_" A blue aura of energy flies from his mouth, into the sky.

I turn my head up to the sky as well. "_Fus!_" I look into the sky, but nothing's there.

"I told you, it can take months to learn even simple shouts," Ulfric lectures.

"It was worth a shot." I stare ahead, into the dense and long forest we will be entering soon. It starts near this side of High Hrothgar, and ends a little further away than Hrothgar Village.

A hawk flies overhead, a shrill cry escaping from its beak and shooting through the air, to meet us near the ground.

"Hey, my house taxes are a bit overdue. And by 'a bit', I mean they were due about a month ago, but I've been so caught up in my duties I haven't been able to pay them."

A nervous smile crosses Stormcloak's face. "Well, you see… we thought you were dead, of course. So, well, we reclaimed your house and all your possessions. Luckily, no one has bought either yet, and now the Palace staff has orders to move all your stuff back."

"Everything had better be exactly the way it was before," I reply through clenched teeth. "I am _very_ meticulous about the placement of my furniture. If the staff screws this up…"

"Calm down, Tymvir. Even if they don't get it exactly right, it won't be too much work to move some stuff around, right?"

"Yes, actually. Like I said, I am _very_ meticulous. Physical labor is a lot more tedious than killing, and once I spent half an hour getting a chair in its correct position."

"We'll do the best we can." With that, Stormcloak looks on ahead, evidently admiring High Hrothgar.

I've always wondered what the Greybeards are actually like. Stormcloak is right here, and it's no secret he's had experience with them.

"What are they like?" I ask. "The Greybeards?"

He snaps out of his little daze, and replies with one word- "Quiet."

"Could you be a bit more specific?"

"The master of the Greybeards, Arngeir, is the only one who can talk without riling up the sky within a fifty mile radius. I've only heard the others talk a total of three times in my stay there. The first was my greeting. I still don't completely understand what they said. Draconic in itself never made a whole lot of sense to me. The second time was when I was having a lot of trouble learning the Word "Yol". Wulfgar, one of the Greybeards, spoke in our tongue to explain the Shout to me. The last… the last time they spoke to me was when my training was completed. I was named Ysmir, the Dragon of the North."

I crack a smile, and then say "By Ysmir! You're Ysmir!"

He smiles as well. "Yes. That I am."

"I've got another question about the Greybeards. Do they live forever, or are they just replaced every 70 years or so with a new batch?"

"That… that, I do not know. It's always been a huge mystery to me, but they won't answer when I ask them about it."

"Odd."

I crane my head around to take a look at my battalion; it's large, but no larger than Stormcloak's or Stone-Fist's. In the front are a line of pikemen- we started using them as soon as we saw how effective they were for the Imperials on the mountain. Behind them is a small line of cavalry, armed with varying weapons. Behind the cavalry is the infantry; armed for battle, also with varying weapons. Finally, there are the archers. Their longbows are designed for shooting great distances, and striking with great force. Unfortunately, they are rather slow. But I know from experience that a single volley of arrows from longbows can be devastating in a battle- or when you're a horse thief trying to escape execution. I had no respect for that thief- what was his name? Lakir? Lekar? Whatever it was, I think a bit of unnecessary force was used when he tried to escape.

As the heat outside increases, a headache begins to form behind my forehead. I grab a canteen of water from my horse's saddlebag, and take a gargantuan drink of water from it.

I screw the lid back on, and nearly drop it in a surprisingly klutzy moment. I strap it back to the saddlebag, and keep riding.

As the hours pass on, clouds start to appear in the sky. _No, Talos, please no! _I think, but I know these clouds- they're going to develop into a storm. Quickly, too. They are towering above each other, as the pillar of clouds continues to grow.

As the sun is blotted out from the clouds, I feel a raindrop on my nose. It's so cold and sudden, I randomly shiver. _Cold,_ I think. This is going to be a fun afternoon. I feel a few more raindrops, and as the scattered rain turns to a constant drizzle, I can hear a steady _pat-pat, pat-pat_ sound as the raindrops bounce off of my helmet.

Thunder roars throughout the sky.

"Brace yourselves!" Galmar yells to all who can hear. "The storm is coming!"

A flash of white-yellow lightning briefly appears in the sky, before it disappears, and another hungry roar is heard from the ever-darkening sky.

This storm is accelerating too quickly for my liking. The _pat-pat_ sound gets louder and louder as the drizzle turns to a terrible downpour, and it nearly becomes unbearable. I think about taking my helmet off so the sound will stop, but only for a second. _Great idea, Tymvir, great idea._ I sarcastically tell myself. _What's next? Are you going to strip naked in the rain and wait to get hypothermia? Maybe climb up the mountain and try to get struck by lightning? _

Well, I didn't take my helmet off. That's always a plus.

A thought occurs to me: 14 years ago, when I was a mere 10 years old, Skyrim was such a nice and welcome place. Now, it might just be the most foreboding region of Tamriel, what with dragons and the civil war. Skyrim is a close contender with Morrowind for the worst area of Tamriel.

Lightning shoots across the sky, and the thunder laughs cruel laughter at us. High Hrothgar is up ahead. It's within twenty minutes of where we are at. Maybe we can find refuge somewhere near the bottom.

Gusts of wind wail across the sky, sounding almost identical to a wolf's howl. This is not good. Not good at all.

My horse rears, and I am nearly thrown off. Ulfric, who's eyes are watery from this wind, blinks, and turns his face around to face the soldiers. "Follow me, men! Follow me!" We already were, but apparently Ulfric didn't think so. He pushes his horse to go faster, and soon he is ahead of Galmar and I. He lets his horse slow down to around the same pace as ours, then takes a 45 degree turn to the left, so we are still facing the mountain, but we will meet it a little closer to the center. I'm not sure how this can be anything but harmful, but I'll trust Ulfric's judgment.

A patch of grass off in the distance is set alight by a blinding lightning strike, and a deafening, ear-piercing roll of thunder reaches my ears almost instantaneously.

My horse does not try to throw me off at this, although a few horses in the cavalry area tried to throw their riders off. Luckily, all of our soldiers were able to remain on their respective mounts.

The blazing fire is soon put out by the downpour of rain, overpowering the extreme gusts of wind.

I take a look up at the sky, and just before a ton of raindrops force me to look down again, I see something imminently dangerous and shocking: a funnel.

The funnel starts to reach down towards the ground, starting to pick up leaves from atop High Hrothgar. If this tornado touches down, we're all dead. I had always imagined I would die in battle, but never like this.

We're so close to the mountain…

The funnel makes a sound identical to a stampede of horses trampling the grass. Where is Ulfric taking us?

As we pull up at the very front of the mountain, Ulfric dismounts. He runs around the wall of rocks guarding this area of the mountain, knocking on several locations.

As he knocks on an area of the stone near the ground, cracks start to appear throughout the stone. They slowly crumble away the rock wall. "Everyone in!" Ulfric orders, as loud as possible, although it can hardly be heard above the commotion.

Behind the crumbled rock is an amazing sight- a flattened and hollowed out cave, probably large enough to support this entire army. Without wasting any time, I dash in with my horse, and the ceiling of the cave is a lot higher than the height of my horse and I combined, so I know I won't have any issues with that. The stone is a brownish shade- how Ulfric knows about this, I don't know. But I intend to find out.

I watch our men flood in, line after line trying to cram themselves in before the funnel will eventually decide whether it wants to touch the ground or not. A man gets bucked off by his horse, and he lands on the rocky ground… hard.

As the last of our men enter, and Ulfric himself comes in, a mystical purple light surrounds the shattered rock. It suddenly starts to piece back together, and forms the rock wall once again. I can still see everything just fine, but whatever source of lighting is here is invisible. There's no explanation for that. Then again, neither is there an explanation for any of what just happened.

I locate Ulfric, and ask him- "What in the name of the nine Divines _was _that?"

"I'll explain later," he replies in a serious tone. "Wait until the storm blows over."

So we all do. We wait in utter silence, listening to the roars, stampedes, and howls of the storm outside. _PAT-PAT, PAT-PAT, PAT-PAT_ goes the flood of water bashing itself against the mountain.

The tornado must have touched ground. But before we know it, the storm has gone calm. Cheers spread throughout the mysterious cavern, for we have survived possibly the worst storm we have ever seen.

**REVIEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW! Also, now we know that Tymvir is 24! Hooray! **


	20. On the Road Again! Part 2

**Thanks to hylian981, wolfkey13, simonstormcloak and BDLG for the reviews! Hylian: Sorry, but I don't think anyone's turning into a dragon . Wolfkey: Thank you! I suppose now I'll improvise some awesome explanation for this cave! Simon: the storm was just that- a thunderstorm. Except it turned into a tornado. To BDLG: Thanks, I'm glad you found the chapter funny! And yep, Tymvir's OCD! And go Roran! Hooray! Here we go**_**! **_**Also, I had this fanfic about Pokémon on a forum, and I'm thinking about re-vamping it (but maybe not for a while)! Yay! One last thing- simonstormcloak has this story up about Minecraft, called The Aether Trilogy, Part 1: Fire. You should check it out- it's cool. Wow, this was a long A/N.**

I take a look at Ulfric. "What, in the name of all that I hold sacred, was that?" I ask excitedly.

He smiles, but it looks as if he's making an effort to do so. "It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"Not until we get back out there, you don't. Once we're riding outside again, I swear I'll explain everything."

"Good."

I hear a cry of pain from across the cavern. As it echoes, I hear it again… and again.

A man with long, braided brown hair comes into sight. I recognize him as the man who got bucked off of his horse. His nose was bleeding; wait, scratch that. It was _spouting_.

As he struggles to keep the rushing blood away from his mouth, he says- "The horse! Kill the horse!"

I see the horse that threw the man off- it looks perfectly calm now. It was white, the same color as the snow that constantly falls here in Skyrim. Its hazel eyes looked nervous, but not _too_ nervous.

I turn back to the man. "No! We can't kill the horse, but we need something for your nose. Now."

"I need a healer!" Ulfric yells.

4 or 5 men and woman in mage robes dash towards us. Ulfric had a small reserve of them, after seeing what they did in Falkreath. By the time they reach us, a few drops of sweat are running down their faces, and they pant for breath. Clearly, they weren't as physically fit as the rest of our men.

Ulfric points towards a green-eyed man with short, cropped black hair to tend to the man. The rest scurry off, hiding their disappointment.

"Who needs healing, Commander Stormcloak?" The man asked.

"The soldier with the bloody nose, Healer Bjadmund."

Bjadmund turns to the man, and lowers his head. A shiny, yellow orb sprouts from each of his hands, each levitating an inch or two above his palms. Although I do not see how the magic works, I can see the red liquid slow down its progress. Finally, it stops.

"Oh, no," Bjadmund says.

The braided man shows a worried expression- "What does that mean?"

"Your nose is broken. I'll need another healer for this one." He turns back to the crowd. "Wind, I'll need some assistance!" He yells.

_Wind?_ I think. _She's the woman who healed me in Falkreath! Maybe this is a different Wind… but then again, who goes by Wind?_

Sure enough, the scrawny woman with sky blue eyes and shoulder-length brown hair dashes urgently towards Bjadmund. "Yes, Healer Bjadmund? What is it?"

"This man has a broken nose. I need your help."

"Sure thing."

They both lower their heads this time, and their eyes close. 4 identical orbs, each glowing, mystical, and golden-yellow orbs appear around an inch above their palms. Little streams of golden light flow from their source to the man's nose.

He flinches when they make contact. "Argh! This feels weird. It's all… tingly!"

His nose starts to change from its present broken, crooked state, into a perfectly formed nose again. He falls to the ground, and lands with one knee on the ground, and lets out another cry of pain. "That hurt just as much as it did when I broke it!" He outbursts.

"Well, I hope you didn't expect a bone being snapped into place to be painless," Wind says.

The man slowly stands up, hands cupped and shaking over his nose. "I can still feel it…" he mutters.

Wind turns to me. "I remember you!" She exclaims. "You were that one soldier in Falkreath. Thanks for your help with fending off the Imperials! I thought you were dead as soon as you walked out that front door. How did you survive?"

I recount the entire battle from that point on as briefly as possible, but it still takes around 5, maybe 10 minutes.

"Impressive! I don't think I would survive that." Wind replies.

"I barely did."

With that, Wind and I say our farewells, and I turn to Ulfric and ask him when we're leaving.

"Right now," he replies.

"Well, that was rather sudden."

"Sure was. Now let's get out of here." Ulfric mounts his horse, throwing one leg over at a time. I myself mount my steed, and I sit upright on the hard leather saddle.

"Alright men, we're leaving!" Ulfric shouts, and anyone who did not hear this almost definitely heard the echoes.

Our horses trot to the entrance, their hooves making a _clop-clop_ sounds against the hard stone.

Galmar meets us at the entrance, which is still sealed. Ulfric once again dismounts, and knocks in several places on the wall, and it once again crumbles slowly. As the cracks that spread across the wall turn into a downright collapse of the stone, all the fragments fall in unison, making a very loud, banging noise when they fall against the ground.

Ulfric leads his horse out of the cave, and stands by the mouth, waiting for everyone to leave. Our men, after a few minutes, all make it out, and purple light once again envelops the fragments of stone. They slowly piece themselves back together, and they fit back in the wall, looking as if they had never collapsed in the first place. Stormcloak mounts his horse again, and it gallops to catch up with Galmar and I.

Stormcloak travels on my right, Stone-Fist on my left. The feel outside is humid; after all, it was just storming. The clouds are starting to dissipate, and the sky is starting to turn to a darker shade of blue as sunset approaches.

The hooves of the horses make a mixture of sounds, ranging from the normal _ clop-clop _to splashing sounds from their hooves colliding with puddles of water scattered in muddy areas, or hidden next to the dark-green leaf blades.

"So, Ulfric, I think you owe me an explanation," I say, turning my head towards Ulfric.

"I suppose I do, don't I?" He replies in his usual deep voice.

"See, originally Skyrim was inhabited by the ancient Snow Elves, and this land was called Mereth-, to recognize the number of elves here. Snow Elf magic was definitely unique. In fact, although this is a little unrelated, it is suspected they actually built the monastery atop High Hrothgar. Anyway, originally the Nedes from Atmora were peaceful with the Snow Elves after they arrived. Eventually, these Mer grew jealous of our power, and decided to try and drive us out from this land. Surely you've heard the story of Ysgramor and the city of Saarthal, correct?"

"Yes, I have."

"When Ysgramor and his Companions struck back, the snow elves were forced to retreat futher and further into Skyrim. Eventually, the elves were pushed back here. They, using their Snow Elf magic, created this secret cave to hide in. At least that's what the Greybeards told me."

"Well, that's rather ironic," I say. "They create a refuge from the Nords, and now it's helping out a bunch of Nords in a war."

Ulfric chuckles a little. "I suppose it is, isn't it?"

"Very."

The sun is setting, the orange-ish glow steadily getting darker. "Wouldn't it have been a better idea to camp in the cave instead of riding through the night?" I ask.

"We won't ride all the way through the night, I just want to get a few more miles in before we camp," Ulfric replies.

My body aches all over from riding on my horse for so long. I turn my head up towards the air. "Fus!" I yell into the sky. Nothing happens. _Fus,_ I think. _Force. Fus means Force. Force… Force… _"Fus!" Once again, nothing happens.

"What, exactly, is 'Fus'?" Galmar asks.

"Force," I reply. "'Fus' means 'Force' in Draconic."

I turn to Ulfric. "What are your views on the other Divines- Mara and Akatosh, for example?"

"I believe they are all great- but inferior to Talos. Well, actually, I'd say they're inferior to Talos and Shor. They're both equal, in my opinion."

Stone-Fist interrupts. "Are you trying to compare Shor with Talos? Talos founded this damned Empire! I don't think anything that Shor has done will ever compare to Talos's deeds!"

_Well, that escalated quickly,_ I think.

"Shor is the embodiment of Sovngarde! I think _that _might be worthy of some note!"

"Talos brought peace to all of Tamriel!"

This time, it's my turn to interrupt. "Everyone, calm down! Save your energy for battle!" I say in an authoritative tone.

"Fine," Stormcloak replies, but he glares at Galmar, and Galmar glares back. _How immature… _I think. I've never heard Ulfric talk about Shor before, and curiosity gets the best of me. Although this probably isn't the best time to be asking, I ask- "Ulfric, why have you never talked about Shor?"

"The elves never outlawed his worship," he replies.

"I guess that's true," I note.

I look ahead- we are about to enter the forest, where, somewhere inside, Hrothgar Village is concealed. The forest is large, however- we'd still have a few hours of riding to find the place.

"Should we set up camp here, or try to ambush Hrothgar Village tonight?" I ask Stormcloak.

"Let me think about it," he replies.

Over the next few minutes, I let him consider both options, although, really, knowing Ulfric, I already know what the answer will be.

He breaks out of his silence, replying "We attack tonight."

No surprise there, although I myself would probably disagree with his statement. "But Ulfric, our men have been walking all day, don't you think this might…"

"Quiet!" He orders.

I decide that shutting my mouth might not be too bad of an idea. We ride on into the forest, where our next few hours will likely be very dull. As the sounds of leaves crunching under my horse's hooves marks my entrance into the woods, and soon the whole army follows.

The sky has turned dark, as the moon rises in the sky. The rest of these few hours are utterly silent, save for the sound of crickets chirping.

Eventually, we see wooden buildings standing off in the distance. _This is it…_ I think.

Our horses ride to the town, and an uneasy silence fills the air. We approach, and two Altmer charge us. _Elves… _I think. _Oh no, oh no, oh Talos no!_

I swing my sword at one, and he falls. A second fires a cone of flames, and my horse dashes away from it. As it starts trying to buck me off, I realize I have lost control over my horse. I quickly leap off my horse, and the Altmer has been overwhelmed by our sheer numbers. A single blast of lightning is fired from his hands, before he falls over.

Elves and Imperials exit several buildings, as if on cue, and retaliate.

The battle for Hrothgar Village has begun.

**Sorry for the rush ending! I lost about 500 words of this chapter earlier, and had to completely redo part of it. I hope you enjoyed it anyway! Review, or elves will shoot you with lightning and flames! Also, this story is about to get a lot more intense! Yay!**


	21. Bloody Skies and Burning Buildings

**Sanitarium! Just leave me alone! I'm learning that song on the guitar. Anyway, thanks to simonstormcloak, BDLG and hylian981 for the reviews! To simon: Nope, I think I already knew all the lore behind that chapter! To hylian: I don't think Elenwen will be in Hrothgar Village, but you'll be seeing her later on! To BDLG: Yeah, sorry I rushed the conversation. I'll try not to rush anything from here on out.**

I dive to the ground to dodge an artificial blast of lightning, and then quickly stand back up. A mace bounces off of my blade, and I quickly stab an Imperial in the neck.

Although we have much larger numbers, we are losing men faster than the enemy. Their superior ability to attack from a range is proving to be quite the advantage. I turn to my men, and yell- "Archers, fire!"

A volley of arrows flies over my head, and implant themselves in the enemy. Several enemy soldiers fall to the ground.

I pick up a dead Imperial's shield; in all honesty, I'm terrible with them, but at the same time, they may prove useful against the magic users I'm fighting against.

I look up, and see a man with red plated steel armor ride up to the front of the battle on a horse, also armored with red steel. The steel is so clean it's shiny, and his face is covered by his helmet. Behind him, there is a large number of archers and infantry, along with a few pikemen. He raises his sword, and cries- "Men, form a shield wall!"

"Yes, Thane Alfhed!" His men cry out in unison. They form a rectangular shape, with the pikemen at the front, shields raised so it is nearly impossible to land a good hit. The infantry stand inside the rectangle, near the pikemen's wall. The archers are located in the dead center.

"Fire!" Thane Alfhed shouts, and arrows fly out, into our men. I see the man next to me die, blood spilling out of his mouth, and then the Thane rushes into battle himself.

I watch as he single-handedly kills three men in a row; this man is no ordinary fighter. _And that's where I come in,_ I think, grimacing.

I let loose a battle cry as I charge towards the Thane. His sword, with a blade that is polished red both by design and blood, swings towards me, and I block the blow, but stumble backward about six inches just because of the sheer force of the strike.

Without looking, he raises his shield behind him, and an arrow catches in it. I try to stab at him, but he quickly moves his shield, so that I strike it instead of him.

"Attack!" He bellows to his horse, and bangs the blunt end of his sword against the black horse's armor; not hard enough to dent it, just enough to get the horse going.

It stampedes towards me, and I sidestep it. It tries to kick me with its rear legs, but I leap back to avoid the kick. While its legs are up, I stab its right hoof. The horse whinnies in pain, and nearly bucks the Thane Alfhed off. He bangs his sword against the horse's armor again, and it turns around to face me. The Thane lowers his sword enough so that if the horse charges, he will easily decapitate me.

As he tries to do just that, I fall back- quite literally. I purposefully let myself collapse backwards. My head makes a loud thumping noise as it collides with the ground, and pain shoots through the back of my head.

I start to get up, and I am soon on one knee- and see Alfhed's horse charging at me. I can't move away in time, and it runs into me with devastating force. I am thrown a few feet, and I skid across the dirt a few more feet. I get up, trying to brush off the terrible pain that is coursing all throughout my body.

The Thane is already charging again, and this is starting to get repetitive. His sword slices across my right cheek- right along my scar from Markarth.

The world spins around me, and pain of all kinds rushes through me- I'm stinging and searing as I fall to the ground. I look ahead of me. Elves… magic… I make the connection. _Not just another nightmare…_ I realize.

Colors replace my vision. I see the Thane charging, and then I see red. Whether it's another hallucination or blood dotting my eyelashes, I'm not sure. He tries to stab me, and my vision flashes white as I roll over to dodge the fatal blow.

I can feel the blood flowing, no, _rushing_ from my cheek. I run my hand across it, and the open scar burns as I do. I hold my hand in front of my eyes, and it is a nasty, dark red. I swallow some blood. _Wait, what? _I ask myself. My cheek is bleeding, not my mouth. I move my hand to the scar… and I am shocked by what I feel. There is an open rip in my skin. Not just some skin ripped apart, if that's what it sounds like. I mean there's no skin _at all_.

I try to stand up, and the world spins around again. I can briefly make out a black-haired Imperial wearing Stormcloak armor trying to combat the Thane. Wait… that's Albeci! _Wait… who?_ I ask myself. _Oh no, this isn't good, I'm losing too much blood, too much blood, too much damn blood!_

"Bandage! Bandage!" I scream. My throat is sore, and I can barely scream the words. I see a healer run up to me… I can briefly make out brown hair… blue eyes… something about wind…

Strange, mystical light flows from the healer's hands, and towards my wound. I start to feel woozy and tired. Everything feels unreal for a few moments. Then, I feel my cheek patch up, as well as my sense of thought.

"Wind!" I exclaim. "How, in Talos's name, are you always the one saving me?"

"Chance, probably!" Wind cheerfully replies, and then runs off towards a distant cry of pain. I turn back to the battle, and see Albeci isn't doing so well. He has a deep wound just below his elbow, and Alfhed is about to strike again. _No… I won't let this happen to anyone else!_ I tell myself.

I run towards Albeci's position, and tackle him. The sword whizzes right over my head, chopping off a few strands of hair. _Well, that's something to be said for free haircuts,_ I think.

I quickly stand back up, and assist Albeci in getting up as well. "Go!" I tell him. "I can hold the Thane off! Stay back!"

I look around. Our men are struggling against Thane Alfhed's shield wall, but we are doing quite well everywhere else; our men have an organized formation, while all of the other legionnaires and elves are scattered and disorganized.

Alfhed stops his horse, and is stationary in his armored saddle. I take the opportunity to charge, but he strikes back with such amazing force that my sword's blade completely shatters in two. _Damn it!_ I think, and I run from the Thane. He is occupied by three other Stormcloak soldiers at the moment, none of whom I recognize. At the very least, they'll buy me a few seconds.

I salvage another sword, identical to the one I was already using, from a dead soldier's body. _Hopefully this sword has stronger steel,_ I muse.

I turn around, and chase back to the Thane. In the brief period that I had looked away to pick up the sword, he had already dispatched two of his assailants. I realize that Alfhed's horse's legs are unarmored. _That's it!_ I think.

I charge, and then duck at the last moment. I drive my sword into the horse's left front calf. I whinnies, and rears into the sky. "Down girl, down!" Thane Alfhed orders. I quickly stab its rear calf, also left. The horse is uncontrollable. The Thane is thrown from his horse, and he lands in a patch of mud a few feet away. _Well, it's such a shame he got his armor dirty,_ I think.

He struggles to get up, but he's too late. I stomp on his shining red helmet once. A grunt of pain escapes from him. I stomp again. He grunts in pain again. Finally, I lift him up, and take off his helmet. The man has a pale face, and calm, hazel eyes. His braided black hair reaches down to the bottom of his neck.

I take my sword. "Please, by Arkay, no!" He pleads. I take my sword, and drill it in between his shoulder and neck. His lifeless, haunting eyes stare at me as his limp form falls beside me.

In war, there is, unfortunately, no time to celebrate. I charge into the shield wall, bashing the pommel of my sword against a red steel plated shield. A tiny crack appears. Perfect. As I disarm my opponent by grabbing his pike, I bash his shield again, and a hole opens up. I wrench the pike from his hands, and suddenly realize I have no idea where my salvaged shield landed. I kick the man's stomach, and quickly stab him in the stomach. Without their Thane to lead them, these men have lost morale, and will likely be easy to defeat.

I grab a man and wring his neck, and I have opened a gateway for my men. They charge in like Alfhed's horse. _Speaking of which, I wonder how that horse is right now,_ I think.

Blood flies onto my face as I stab a Nord Imperial in the chest. Most of the Thane's men are Nords- no; these men don't even deserve to be called Nords. By fighting for the Imperials, they have betrayed their homeland, and their honor.

Now that we have broken the Thane's outer wall, the pikes are utterly useless, since the fight has turned up-close and personal.

A pike is hurled at me- from where, I don't know, but it also gives me a free haircut. An unnoticeable haircut, that is- I've barely lost any hair.

I wrench the pike out of the ground, and throw it back. "I thought you might want this!" I joke, although, I'll admit, it was a rather cruel joke to make, considering the pike drove itself all the way through a man's head.

Our men progress fast through the shield wall. The Thane's men really don't stand a chance now.

We end up backing them against the wall of a building, and there we completely eradicate them.

But when I turn back to face the other elves and Imperials, I am shocked by what I see. The elves and Imperials are still attacking us, but most of the other Stormcloaks are trying to kill everyone in sight. _Damn those elves and their twisted magic! _I exclaim inside my head.

I know that if I want to defeat these elves, I'll have to fight from a distance. I sheathe my sword, and pick up a yew bow from a fallen soldier, along with 12 arrows made with polished steel at their points. _It's a start._

I shoot one into an Altmer's eye. I can just barely see 3 Stormcloaks regain their sense of control. _That's it! The magic must die with the caster, _I think. I quickly shoot off the last 11 arrows, one after the other, and all but two of them hit their targets.

_More arrows, I need more arrows! _I think, as I reach for a 13th arrow and see there isn't one. I look around for an archer, and then I remember- Thane Alfhed had all his archers positioned in the center! I rush towards where the center of the shield wall was, and see enough arrows to last a single person throughout an entire war. I end up grabbing around 30 arrows, and then exchange my yew bow with a longbow.

It's almost as if I was in a trance. Nothing matters now, nothing except for the whizzing sound the arrow makes when loosed from the bow.

By the time those 30 arrows have been fired (although 5 or 6 of them missed their targets), our men are able to retaliate. Our men are freed from their mental binds in exponential numbers.

I charge into battle with my sword unsheathed and my longbow on the ground behind me, and stick my sword into a golden-skin's forehead. He falls, his black robes and hood stained. _Of course!_ I think. _The Thalmor… _I realize. _But why are they only getting involved now?_ I wonder. Doesn't matter. I fight with rage, as well as a bit of prejudice, towards the golden-skins, and nothing else matters.

More and more Stormcloak soldiers are freed from their mental binds. As I rip my sword from a Thalmor's knee, I spot Ulfric, struggling against 5 or 6 elves and Imperials. I charge towards them, and I can see Albeci doing the same. A bloody smile stretches across my grim face.

I suffer a minor cut to the top of my hand as I cut off an Altmer's head, the cloth of his hood falling off with him. I manage to kill another soldier, this one an Imperial, by stabbing him in the side of his chest. By the time they're both dead, though, Ulfric and Albeci have killed the others. Well, all except for one. A last Altmer stands, surrounded by Albeci and Ulfric. As he is stabbed in the back, he unleashes a giant orb of fire from his hands, and it lands near Albeci's feet, and he is blasted into the air.

He flies a good ten or twenty feet, and makes a hard impact with the ground. "Albeci!" I exclaim. I sprint across the small stretch of land separating us, and see he has landed on his face. I turn him over. His chest and stomach movements tell me he's still breathing, and I feel his pulse- still going. His arm is caked in mud, and some of it rubs off on my hand. Albeci himself is unconscious, his boots and lower leggings have been completely seared off, and both his feet and calves are severely burnt. "Great, now we need another healer," I grumble. I don't know why this bothers me; it just does.

"I need a healer!" I yell.

A man runs up in mage robes; I recognize him as Healer Bjadmund, from the cave. He stares down at Albeci, and grimaces. "This might take a while. Burns are hard to treat. It could take up to an hour, so I'll either need you to guard me, or find somewhere that the Imperials won't attack."

"I don't know anywhere good to hide, but I also need to be in battle, so I'll find a few soldiers to guard."

I see around 4 or 5 Stormcloaks start to run past. "Hey!" I beckon. They turn to me. "Guard the healer! When I come back for you, you can leave."

"Yes, Commander Tymvir!"

I run off and catch up with Ulfric. "Where do they run this place from?" I ask.

"I think it might be that place, up there." Stormcloak points to a building positioned on a short but wide hill. Stairs lead up to a wooden building, made out of birch wood.

"What do you say we just burn the place?" I ask.

"With what?"

"Those lanterns should work," I say, indicating a row of street lights with my finger.

"Sounds good to me."

We both cut down a lantern, and jog towards the building, dispatching every Imperial soldier or Thalmor agent that gets in our way.

We approach the birch wood building, and kick the door open. Stormcloak's suspicions proved to be true. Inside, there are three men, probably Thanes, and a large supply of enemy soldiers. As they charge, I yell the word "Hurry!" I smash my lantern against the ground, and the place immediately goes up in flames. "Run!"

Ulfric and I sprint out of the burning building, trying to outrun the hungry flames that trail down the flammable stairs. We both leap from the fourth to bottom stairs and Stormcloak makes a not-so-fabulous landing. He lands face-first, and when he gets up, mud covers his face.

He laughs as he gets up, and then we continue to run from the flames. It only takes a couple of yards to finally get away from the fire; the rainstorm today has left the grass wet.

"Don't you just love war?" I ask, jokingly.

"Sure do!" He laughs, and wipes the mud from his face.

I turn back, and see the building has already nearly been reduced to ashes. "It's a good thing Windhelm is made out of stone. It would be a shame if something like this happened to the Palace," Ulfric notes.

Then, something completely unexpected happens; the building _explodes_. A massive boom echoes from the structure, and I run to get away from the fragments of the building. A massive, jagged plank implants itself in the ground where I was standing just moments ago. If I had stopped to admire the explosion, I would most likely be dead by now.

A plank of wood has spread the fire to the inn where I met Tralenn. Both buildings are soon reduced to cinders, but in light of the explosion, which, by the way, is still sending burning wood everywhere, and the fires have halted the fighting. The Imperials and Thalmor must know they have lost this battle, yet they soon return to fighting. _Albeci!_ I remember.

I run to his position. He has woken up, but Bjadmund is nowhere to be seen. "Where's Bjadmund?" I ask frantically.

"He was killed by a burning plank. Look behind you," Albeci replies.

I do, and see Healer Bjadmund face-up. Or, more specifically, Bjadmund's corpse. A burnt plank, which has been naturally extinguished, sticks from the ground, through his chest, and into the air. His eyes stare into the sky, lifeless and terrifying.

I feel sadness. Although friendly fire is unavoidable in war, it is still an unhappy occasion when it happens. Bjadmund looked somewhat young, too. It wasn't his time to go… and yet, apparently, it was.

"Can you fight?" I ask Albeci. I see his foot is still charred, but not nearly as bad as it was before.

"I-I think. Help me up, will you?"

I reach out a hand, and he grasps it. He slowly stands up, and then takes a few steps. He bends down to grab his sword, and seems to be fit to fight. "I'm good." He confirms.

"Then let's go."

The Imperials and Thalmor are already retreating. _Nope,_ I tell myself. _Not this time._ I remember on one of my first missions with the Stormcloaks, way before I was captured and sent to Helgen, a skirmish ensued between us and a group of Thalmor. Almost my entire group, which consisted of around 50 men, was killed, and the Thalmor thought the last 4 or 5 of us dead already. They had left, almost as if nothing had happened. This would be my vengeance.

I charge into battle with the fury of a god, and destroy elf upon elf, Imperial upon Imperial. Although most Stormcloaks aren't attacking the retreating forces, I have a few supporters, including Albeci and Ulfric. Galmar is nowhere to be seen.

Minutes feel like seconds, and my vengeance blazes. As I bring justice to my dead brothers- and sisters-in-arms, the enemy's already small numbers dwindle even more. Finally, when I find myself not in Hrothgar Village anymore, I turn back, and find myself surprisingly unchallenged. Not one Imperial or Altmer is brave enough to duel against me. _No surprise there, _I think. _Maybe they're running away from a fly. That would just about sum up about how 'courageous' they really are._

I walk back to the city. We can't claim it as our territory; this is much too inhospitable. The town hall, or whatever that building was, as well as the inn and another building that I think was a store have all been burned, and clean-up efforts would take much too long at this stage of the war.

I see the shining red armor of the fallen Thane Alfhed, the ashes of buildings, and a mass of fallen soldiers near the edge of the town. One person really can make a difference, at least in this case.

We're yet again one step closer to stamping out Imperial presence in Skyrim.

**Hope you liked it! I also hope you review, because if you don't, Thane Alfhed will hunt you down!**


	22. Morality of War

**Oppa Gangnam Style! Thanks to simonstormcloak, BDLG, Trapinchh, and hylian981 to the reviews! To simon: I really added the Thane in there because I wasn't sure where to go with the chapter xD. To BDLG: I'm glad you liked the battle, and the helmet being taken off! To Trapinchh: Yay! New reviewer! Sorry about the grammar mistakes, I tend to forget to proofread. Also, on some of my chapters I had spellcheck off (it's on now) because I was annoyed with it saying all the Skyrim terms were wrong. And finally, hylian: Silly Tymvir! As I said to Trapinchh, I forget to proofread a lot. Tymvir's not Thane of Windhelm yet, but he might be in the future. One last thing: sorry that I haven't had a chapter up in while- I had a bad case of writer's block.**

The sky outside the camp is cloudy; it might rain tonight. I step through some weeds that have grown on the outcrops of our camp. Tents line the area to the edge of the horizon, and the gates of Whiterun are just visible in the other direction. It's cool outside, but it's humid.

Albeci stands across from me, a blunt wooden sword in his right hand. I have an identical weapon- I've been spending the day sparring with my men, to try and judge their skill. Of course, I can't spar with everyone, as there are far too many men for me to fight in a single day.

His blade bounces off of my own, and the Imperial recoils. This sparring match has gone on for somewhere near 15 minutes; Albeci's better than most of my recruits, who I can normally beat within seconds of the match's beginning.

I watch as a dribble of sweat starts to trickle down from Albeci's forehead as I jump from a sword thrust, and it reaches his brow. I start to smile, knowing that he is starting to get fatigued. _Just a little longer, Tymvir, just a little longer…_I tell myself.

I decide to go on the defensive, because if I can tire Albeci out, just a bit more, victory will be mine. Unfortunately, he seems to be using the same tactics. He stands with his sword ready to parry any blow coming at him. If we both play defensive, he'll almost certainly regain his energy and attack with rejuvenated force.

I let out a fake thrust, just enough to distract him. He starts to dodge, but I quickly sweep my sword around to the side and land a blow in the side of his stomach. He hunches over- these swords can't do any fatal damage, but they're still painful. Albeci drops his sword.

"Nice match," I say, and hold out my hand for him to shake. He reaches out and does shake my hand. His hands are still rather warm from gripping the sword so tight, and, unfortunately, they're also a bit sweaty.

"Nice match," Albeci replies as the handshake ends.

Looking up at the sky, I see it's around noon. I decide that now might be a good time to eat lunch; all of this fighting makes my stomach growl out of hunger.

I walk to my gray tent, open the flap, and enter. Inside, there is a bed roll on the left and a few of my belongings arranged neat and orderly on the right. The belongings are mostly clothes, but include a few other items as well- including my lunch for today.

As I grab my lunch, I feel somewhat sorry for the soldiers. Their rations are fairly small; they have to be on a military campaign this lengthy, while the Commanders (such as me) get a decently-sized lunch. Mine today is a chop of venison. It's nothing special, but it's nice on journeys such as this.

I eat my venison in private, sitting atop my bed roll, with a canteen of warm water from this morning at my side. The meat is tough and not that juicy, but hey, I'm in a military camp, not a five-star inn.

I eat the last of the venison, with a bit of a struggle to get it from my mouth to my throat, and then drink to water the meat down. I almost wish I hadn't done that, because I never could stand water that wasn't cold. I make a mental note to gather water from the river today.

I walk back outside, and notice the sun's position has changed a little, and Ulfric wants Galmar and I to be in the command tent by one in the afternoon. Now might not be a bad time to head over.

The sun beats down on my head as I walk, and the walk is fairly long- around half a mile into the camp. Most of the soldiers are outside training at the moment, and they seem fit for battle.

I enter the large blue tent, and inside, on a birch wood table, is a spread out map of Skyrim, identical to the one Galmar showed me back in Windhelm. Ulfric and Galmar are already there; they seem to have a tendency to get places early. With Stormcloak's impatient nature, this doesn't surprise me. As the old saying goes: 'The earlier begun, the sooner done.'

Stormcloak isn't wearing his usual cloak, considering the heat outside, and instead he wears a normal set of blue clothes. I've never actually seen Ulfric dress in casual wear before, so this is fairly surprising. Galmar stands on the opposite side, wearing a standard set of Stormcloak armor.

I take my spot in between the two, and a dagger crafted out of steel is stuck in the position of Markarth. The blade is shining, and completely free of blood. The tip itself might have a bit of blood on it, but it's impossible to tell, as it has been impaled pretty far into the map, even reaching into the table itself. Right next to the dagger is a red flag, indicating an area under Imperial control.

"What's the red flag showing?" I ask.

Ulfric starts to open his mouth, but is beat to the punch by Stone-Fist. "That's Left Hand Mine. It's the primary source of iron for Markarth. Iron, as I'm sure you know, is needed for steel, which is used to make swords, armor, and arrows for the Imperials. If we can cut that off, Markarth's military will collapse, and then it will be open for the taking."

"Wouldn't that take too long? Besides, don't they have that Cidhna Mine inside the city?" I ask.

"Cidhna Mine has an abundance of silver. Silver, as far as I know, has _never _been used in the Imperials' weapons. If we can blockade imports to Markarth, we can keep their economy under control, even more so if we can blockade their exports." Galmar explains.

"If the economy collapses, wouldn't that starve the citizens inside?"

Galmar shows a surprised look. "I didn't think about that. I guess we could allow food importations to the city, as well as water, but that's all. On another subject, Ulfric saved the Reach once before, did you know that?"

"Yes, I did. I know the full story," I reply. "But please, let's get back on topic. What about the Forsworn? I'm fairly certain they resent Ulfric with every fiber of their being, and the city will be an easy target for them whenever we're still trying to assign guards."

"The thing is, they're uncivilized and unorganized," Ulfric cuts in. "See, that's the reason I was able to expel them from Markarth the first time. If we have a good defensive line on the walls, we can stop them with relative ease. Besides, most of them are located on the opposite side of the Karth River, which would give us a warning far in advance if they started moving towards us."

"Fair enough," I say, although I'm still somewhat critical of the plan. There's _something _about it. I'm not sure what it is, but there's _something _I don't like about it. Maybe it's the fact that this will plan will affect the civilian populace of the Reach; yes, I'm sure that's it.

"So what about the actual battle strategy? Even if their military suffers, they still have the height advantage."

"We're still working on that," Stormcloak answers. "We're opting for a blitzkrieg strategy; much like we did in Whiterun, but cutting off the mine could take up a couple of weeks, including the time it would take to crush their military. It gives the Imperials a larger time frame in which to retaliate against us, and blitz won't exactly work in perfect conjunction with that. Hell, it will have _terrible _conjunction."

"And that's why we need to decide on something else. I hate to say it to you both, but you and Galmar both need to work on your tactical skills. Most of the battle strategies have been my ideas, and I'd like that to change. Sure, it's nice to help out, but I don't like letting all the work fall on my shoulders, and no one else's," I rant. It feels nice to get that off my chest after so long of being forced to deal with it, although I'm not completely sure I'll like the response.

Ulfric looks as if he's suppressing anger, while Galmar stands there with a guilty look. "You're right," the latter admits. "I just was born with the skill to cleave in people's heads, but not the talent to discuss tactics. I hate to say this, as I know this is what you were just complaining about, but how do you propose we take over Markarth?"

I let out a tired sigh. "Give me a moment, I'm going outside," I say. "A bit of fresh air always helps me think."

Stormcloak and Stone-Fist simultaneously not their heads in agreement, and I exit the blue command tent through the entrance/exit flap.

Outside, it seems to have gotten cooler, despite the fact that it's the afternoon. I go to a corner of the tent and relax, leaning back against the support beam hidden inside the fabric that makes up the tent. I stare into the cyan blue sky, at a puffy white cloud that almost looks like a horker.

I remember the mountain, when I was observing the City of Stone. _Let's see… Stone walls, tall- very tall. And, of course, the city is positioned atop a mountain. If I can figure out how to overcome the height advantage, the city is as good as ours._

_Stealth,_ I think. The single word encompasses many military victories throughout history. Although it's not the most honorable way to take over a city, it is necessary in some cases. As far as I know, the Markarth officials never found out about our little stealthy trick at Whiterun, so we should be able to climb our ways up the walls during the night. I wish there was a more honorable way to do this, but after all that's happened, such as my complete arson of Hrothgar Village (I don't need a sword to be a pyromaniac, apparently), the slaughter of the innocents before that (of course, that just gives me more reasons to hate the Imperials), and the incident with the uprising in Whiterun. I still wake up almost every morning with a pang of regret for that day.

The slaughter of the innocents is one of the only reasons I don't go for something more noble- No one who would kill a town of innocent men, women, and children deserves any mercy. It's sort of contradictory to what I said before, but moral decency is inconsistent in war.

Now I have to decide how, exactly, to use stealth. I could always just send in our more stealthy men to assassinate the Imperials atop the walls, but then the alarm would quickly be raised, and where would our assassins be? Dead. A lot of our army is consisted of men full of spirit, but still no older than 19 or 20, still just barely old enough to even shave. I don't want the rest of life's experiences to be taken away from them; Besides, it wouldn't surprise me if they were at odds with their parents. Most parents wouldn't consent to their sons or daughters running off to join an army at such a young age. I may not have made perfect amends with my own parents, and I don't want the boys and girls to die resenting their parents.

So, assassination would not work unless I trashed my moral decency. _Moral decency is inconsistent in war…_ I think, reminding myself of my mental words that I said not even two minutes ago. _No. Moral decency is only inconsistent in war if you make it so._

Maybe our men could set up a distraction. Maybe light a fire or some other sort of beacon at a position on the walls, and when the archers on the wall decide to check it out, our men would ambush them from the sides of the walls. That would at least provide a neat little distraction while we send some other men to open the gate; the levers to open it, I saw, were directly on top of the gate, on the walls. _There would still be death, Tymvir…_I think, but the other side of my mind, the more reasonable yet cold-hearted side argues- _People always die in war. War never changes._

I listen to my own little voice of reason, and decide that this is a decent plan. I walk back into the tent, and Galmar and Ulfric greet me. I recount my plan to them, and they seem to like it.

"So be it," Stormcloak confirms. "We'll set up a distraction while we open the gate, then charge the city. Ha, I'll love to see the faces of the Imperials when they realized they've been outsmarted by Nords. They think of us as so pathetic and stupid, but, believe it or not, some of us have brains."

_Yeah, but not you Ulfric, _A little voice in my head speaks up. I mentally berate myself for thinking badly about Ulfric- it's probably just my annoyance at their tactical incapability.

"What about Morthal? Dragon Bridge? Solitude?" Galmar asks. "Do we devise a strategy for those now, or wait?"

"I say we wait," says Ulfric.

"I say we devise a strategy now," I reply.

"I'd have to agree with Ulfric," Galmar states. "We'll see how things go in Markarth, and work out a strategy from there."

Galmar actually has a valid point- if we stick to a single strategy throughout the whole thing, our plans will likely get screwed up by the fact that there _will _be casualties.

"Alright, Tymvir, you're outvoted," Stormcloak bluntly says. "You're all dismissed. Get back to your tents, because we're moving towards Markarth tomorrow."

Galmar and I leave the tent, but Ulfric stays behind. I'm pretty sure this is his personal tent as well, but I'm not completely sure.

I look on ahead, my legs tired from the day's work. Tomorrow, they'll probably be sore as hell, but I'll still have miles to cross.

Fun!

**Hope you enjoyed! *speaks in evil voice* BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T, TYMVIR WILL KILL YOU! Anyway, yeah, on a more serious note, I'm truly sorry for not having a chapter up in forever and a half. I had writer's block and wrote a full chapter, ditched it because I didn't like it, and made this one.**


	23. An Ordinary Day at Camp

**Thanks to simonstormcloak, ejthepinoy, ErikTheRed00, BDLG, echo2345 and Hylian981ou for the reviews! To Erik: Yay! Five stars! I've made a lot of stories before, but I usually abandon them after a few chapters. To ejthepinoy: I'm glad you like the descriptions, the battle narratives can be a bit hard for me to write sometimes. To Hylian: I'm glad you like the break, I've been trying to make more of them so this isn't nonstop fighting. To simon: Don't worry, everybody in my story gets injured! Or killed… *cue evil music* To BDLG: Glad you like Tymvir's sense of humor. He gets it from me :D! To echo2345: This chapter will be out right about… NOW! Anyway, glad you like the story. To everyone: Yay, my story is getting its own little cult following! Thank you to everyone, as well as an additional thanks to BDLG, who indirectly gave me the idea to use homing pigeons for communication!**

**Also, ejthepinoy started this cool story recently (also about the civil war), called "The Black Banner". You should check it out.**

Our new camp is situated along the eastern side of the Karth River in the Reach. It's a been a couple of weeks since we left our camp in Whiterun. Soon, we will be gearing up for the embargo on Markarth. The mines will be valuable to both our military and our economy. An optimistic part of me, deep inside, hopes that I will find my sword inside Markarth, but I quickly shove the thought away. It's lost now, possibly destroyed by the Imperials.

The mountains loom over us, on the other side of the river. Markarth is not quite visible from here, but I know it can't be too far from the other mountains. I'm pretty sure I can see our camp from here- The side of the mountain, as well as the location of our camp, have been burnt by the dragon, and the blackened marks still stain the mountain. It painfully reminds me of Ralof, and how he died there. For all I know, his body is still up there, decomposing. I don't think cleanup was exactly our top priority when the battle finished. _Or maybe it was,_ I think. After all, I wasn't there to watch the battle finish, was I? Then again, when over half of your men die, I'm pretty sure your only concern is, well, your men dying.

I wonder who would be the next commander of my battalion if I _had _died- on the mountain or in the torture chamber, like the boy in the cell across from me. His pain still paints itself as a horrible, gruesome illustration in my mind. Maybe it would have been that man called Solding, who had fought so well in the Battle for Whiterun. I don't know most of my men too well; Albeci is really my only friend who isn't in a high position of power in the Stormcloak army. I've spoken to Solding from time to time, but he's not really a talkative type, so I usually leave him alone. Of course, Albeci would not have become commander of the battalion, despite his excellent fighting skills. After all, if I had died, he probably never would have joined the Stormcloaks.

My sword clangs at my side as I walk. I tend to have a new sword after every fight, usually salvaged from dead legionnaires. _If I don't find my sword in Markarth, I'll get a new one custom made,_ I resolve.

As I look at the mountains, I remember Igmund's words shortly before he let me go- _"Commander Tymvir, you are hereby expelled from the Reach for your terrible crimes against the Empire. If you come back, you will be shot on sight."_

I start to laugh, thinking sarcastically- _Oh no! I'm not allowed in the Reach! _Of course, at this point, I'm pretty sure _any _Stormcloak will be shot on sight. Not exactly a smart move on the Jarl's part, but then again, he did tell me he prefers the Stormcloaks over the Empire. It would be nice if he just stood down, and turned Markarth over to us. Of course, he wouldn't do that; he may have his own hidden loyalties, but his guards have more open loyalties to the Empire, Igmund would just end up dead, and then we'd still have the whole battle to deal with.

I randomly turn my head up to the air. "Fus!" I shout, but nothing comes out of my mouth except for noise. This has become routine for me. _It means force in Draconic. The Shout projects force._ "Fus!" I shout again, and once again, noise is that comes from my mouth.

Turning my head back to its normal position, I realize it's chilly outside- _very_ chilly. The clouds overhead are a thin white blanket covering the sun, which isn't providing much heat today.

I realize we have a good strategy for getting things ready prior to the battle, but we don't have a strategy for the battle itself. Unfortunately, I don't remember much of Markarth's interior- sprinting full speed to avoid your own death tends to do that to a person. Maybe, when we get closer, I could climb one of the mountains, and scan the city again. Of course, we can't all camp up there; the last trip we took up there took far too long, and now our numbers are much larger, which would make things take even longer.

I do remember seeing the gates of Markarth though. I don't exactly know what they're made of, but they look strong- probably strong enough to resist the full force of one of Ulfric's Shouts. It's a shame battering rams are so heavy, or else we would have taken a few with us. Unfortunately, transporting giant siege engines across Skyrim tends to tire people out.

At the same time, I also remember stairs in Markarth- lots of them, too. Those will definitely be our main obstacle. Archers will have plenty of good vantage points to shoot us from- but then again, archers need arrows to shoot. Maybe if we can somehow run them dry of arrows, while blocking all importation into the city, we can easily fight our way through the place.

I toss the idea aside for a second, but then I realize- that's actually not a half bad idea! But then, there's the situation of how to make it into the city and steal the arrows. They'd either be stored in a barracks or Understone Keep- hopefully the former- but it would be extremely difficult to get in and out without getting noticed, especially considering the thousands of arrows they probably have stored. We'd need quite a few men to hop in there, which also draws attention. Of course, once we make into the barracks, we could just slaughter our way through, while preventing the soldiers from reaching a stash of arrows. Or, we could take a torch (or lantern) from inside, and set the arsenal of weapons, wherever it is, on fire.

So now I have three different possible methods for getting rid of their arrows. The first one would be the hardest, and in the end, we'd probably get killed. The second would be rather risky as well, but by far the most beneficial. The last one would be the easiest method, but we wouldn't receive any arrows/weapons from it.

I go to find Albeci. He seems to be intelligent and a good fighter, two elements of a tactical genius. Maybe he could help me out with strategy, particularly finding a way into the barracks/Keep.

Finding him is tedious and takes around 20 minutes, and I find him in the shooting range. He prepares his bow, and lets loose an arrow from the string. It flies towards the target, and lands in the ring surrounding the bullseye. It's a pretty nice shot, especially compared to me, who sucks at archery.

I walk up to the man. "Albeci!" I say.

He turns around to face me. "Oh hi, Tymvir. What brings you to the archery range?"

"Well first, let me ask you- are you any good with military strategy?"

"I know the basics, but I wouldn't consider myself an expert."

"I guess that'll work. Anyway, I need your help with something."

"Yeah? What is it?"

I explain my plan, then ask him about how to sneak in.

He stands there, in deep thought, his eyes staring ahead towards the horizon with an almost creepy amount of focus.

After about a minute of waiting, I'm about to tell him a quick "Never mind," and then walk off, but then he breaks out of thought with words. "I've got it! Well, at least if everything is stored in Understone Keep. It wouldn't surprise me if there was a secret path out, leading into the wilderness- the Jarl's court surely wouldn't let him be backed into a corner; no, people are smarter than that. If the tunnel, assuming that's what the secret path is, can be found, you could probably sneak into the Keep, most likely into the Jarl's Quarters. Of course, there's always the matter of sneaking to the arsenal, but I'm sure there are a few skilled men in our ranks who are stealthy enough to do just that.  
Of course, then there's the possibility that the arrows and weapons _aren't_ stored in Understone Keep, but a barracks instead. If that's the case, I really can't help you there, friend."

"Thank you, Albeci," I reply. It makes sense to me, as there's valid reasoning behind his statement.

I decide I want to give the bow a try. "Hand me your bow, friend. I want to take a couple of shots," I say.

Albeci hands me the bow, and I take it. It's made from yew, and the bow string is made out of the rawhide of a deer- at least, I think. The Imperial man hands me a quiver of arrows, made from steel. The tips are strong enough to cut through a man's flesh, as all arrows should be, and I have seen from the archers that they have the ability to plant themselves fairly deep in the targets.

I hold the bow up, preparing to fire. I factor in the wind, pushing slightly west, and turn my aim slightly in the opposite direction. I line up my aim just a little below the bullseye, as my shots tend to fly a bit upward.

I pull back the string a bit more, and then let go. I accidentally mess up my aim a bit at the last second, and it goes flying westward. It bounces off of the very outer ring, the blunt side of the arrowhead striking against it, and then it lands in the grass noiselessly. I walk up and retrieve the arrow. I put it back in the quiver, and hand the bow and arrows back to Albeci. He takes them, and, as silently as the arrow when it hit the ground, goes back to shooting at his target, every arrow landing in or near the bullseye. It seems he is even more talented with archery than he is with short range weapons. This man is a good rival for me; despite the fact that he doesn't have the blessing of the Warrior Stone (at least I don't _think_ he has the blessing of the Warrior Stone), his skill is actually nearly as good as my own.

I decide it might not be a half bad idea to report this strategy to Ulfric and Galmar. After all, maybe they can pitch in for once and suggest something relating to strategy. I look back a while, and realize I have not had a casual conversation with either of the two men since before the Battle for Hrothgar Village. No, it's all been strategy, strategy, and guess what? More strategy.

I contemplate possible ideas for infiltrating a barracks should the weapons be stored in one, but none of them seem logical- most of the ideas that pop into my head involve as much stealth as horker chasing a sabre cat on an flat grassland. Maybe I'll leave this one up to Stormcloak and Stone-Fist.

I make it to the Command Tent, and knock on a metal pole stationed near the entrance flap, and the sound of my knuckles rapping against metal is most likely loud enough for Ulfric to hear. My thoughts are confirmed whenever he opens the flap, and his eyes flash with recognition. "Tymvir, what's brought you here?" He asks as he walks outside of the tent.

"I have a strategy for Markarth," I reply.

"We already have a strategy. Why would we need another one?"

"Because the archers would still kill us no matter how bad the economy is. I have a strategy for neutralizing them."

"All right. What is this strategy?" Stormcloak inquires, a critical look on his face. If I know one thing about him, it's that he's not known for being patient- I can think of several times his impatience has gotten the best of him. The Battle for Hrothgar Village when he forced us to fight despite hours of already marching, many times during battles when he has charged prematurely, and his rather brief initiation of new Stormcloaks.

"Let's go get Galmar first," I answer. "He'll want to hear this too."

Ulfric nods, and we start walking towards Galmar's tent, which is located around half a mile from the Command Tent. It really makes no sense to me why Galmar is stationed so far away- After all, he is one of only three people authorized to enter the Command/Ulfric's Tent- The other two being Stormcloak and myself, of course.

"So what exactly happened with the Markarth Incident?" I ask Ulfric. I have but a vague knowledge of the Incident, but I have a basic summary. Stormcloak will most likely give me a detailed, if heavily opinionated version, and more detail is always appreciated by me. As we walk, he explains-

"Ah, that. You see, back in 4E 174, when the Empire's men were off fighting the elves in the Great War, myself included- but only for a short time. I only served from 4E 174 to the end of the war. Back on topic though, back in that year, the Forsworn were able to take the Reach with all of Markarth's men fighting in Cyrodiil. The current Jarl's father was the Jarl at the time, but was killed by the Forsworn when they invaded. For two whole years, the barbarians ruled over the Reach, but the Empire still had the sheer _audacity _to consider the Reach its own kingdom. Now, the Jarl that rules now, Igmund, if I remember correctly, decided he wanted the city back in 4E 176, the same year that the Great War ended. I had just arrived back in Skyrim, exhausted from two years of war in Cyrodiil, and the Jarl requested my help. I was gracious enough to accept, and I gathered up a group of militia. In exchange for this, the Jarl had promised me and my men the right to worship Talos.  
So we took back the city. Igmund held true to his promise, and I kept Imperial soldiers from outlawing worship in Markarth. Eventually though, under just a bit of pressure from the elves, everyone went back on their promise, and Igmund forbade me from worshipping Talos! I would have gladly bled him to death at the moment, and I still would! Of course, I still worshiped Talos after he banned me from doing exactly that, and that was actually where I got my idea to rout the Imperials from Skyrim. Whenever we storm Understone Keep, the Jarl's mine!"

By the end of his explanation, his anger is almost comical, to the point where I can almost imagine steam coming out of his ears.

"I once read in a book called _The Bear of Markarth that _you ordered the execution of everyone who didn't fight, man and woman, including children that were just barely old enough to lift a sword. Is this true? Or is it lies?"

He's silent for a moment, then solemnly speaks. "I did order the death of all men over the age of 21 who didn't help. I left no Forsworn alive, and tortured their wives to learn their locations. It's a decision I regret, but one that's in the past."

With that, our conversation closes, and we travel on wordlessly, and I am, in truth, quite shocked. I had known Ulfric to be just about as ruthless as I am, but never worse.

Eventually, we reach Galmar's tent, and I knock on the metal pole near his tent. Not everyone is granted with the privilege of the metal poles for privacy, only those who are highly ranked.

He walks out of the tent, with his armor on. He has his battle axe strapped to his back, ready for combat if the need should arise. The thing is fearsome; almost as sharp as Wuuthrad, the battle axe wielded by Ysgramor, itself. Of course, I've never seen Wuuthrad- the last time I heard about it, it was shattered, the shards spread out across Skyrim.

"Yeah?" Galmar asks bluntly.

"I have a strategy for taking Markarth, after we block the importation and exportation of everything but food."

"What is it, then?"

Over the course of the next few minutes, I describe my strategy to Stone-Fist. He seems to like the idea, signified by his victorious smile at the end of my explanation.

"You, my friend, are a genius!" Galmar exclaims.

"Most of the work was done by my friend Albeci, not me, to be honest."

"Well then Abeci deserves a promotion!"

"_Albeci_, not Abeci. There's an "L" after the "A"."

"I see. Where can I find him?"

"Last I saw him, he was at the archery range, shooting the bullseye half the time."

"Alright, unless you're fabricating lies, that man's getting a promotion. We don't have enough people with tactical smarts here, and we could use some more."

_Trust me, I know,_ I muse to myself.

Our conversation is interrupted by a pigeon flying overhead. It perches on the top of Galmar's tent and drops an envelope. It slides down the tent, and Galmar picks it up. The envelope has dried blood on it. He hands the envelope to Ulfric. "I have a feeling this is meant for you," Stone-Fist states.

Ulfric opens the envelope and clears his throat. He quickly reads through the letter. "Oh no, oh gods no," Ulfric says.

"What? What does it say?" I ask.

Ulfric clears his throat again. He starts reading-

"_Ulfric!  
This is Skald! The Imperials took Dawnstar. I'm probably dead. Take Dawnstar back!"_

There is more dried blood on the letter itself, and the handwriting looks rushed and messy. Uncomfortable, disturbed stares are passed from me to Ulfric, Galmar to me, Stormcloak to Stone-Fist, and so on.

After a moment of utter shock, I break the silence. "Well, we can't exactly let the Imperials keep Dawnstar. It's one of only two of our major naval ports. They could launch an assault on Windhelm from Dawnstar. And where would we be without Windhelm?" Before we can even talk about who goes to fight, I run my mouth some more. "I'm going to fight in Dawnstar, like it or not. One of you is coming with me, I don't care who. Whoever stays behind to take Dawnstar, just remember that once everyone's starved, Markarth is an easy take."

No one else is ready to combat my argument, and Galmar volunteers to go to Dawnstar with me. Just when I thought the war was basically over, the Imperials strike back and do _this_. I don't get it- how did they manage to move troops all the way from Solitude, where they most likely came from, all the way to Dawnstar without getting noticed?

If we make it in time, we'll have a chance at taking Dawnstar back before they can send ships out to Windhelm. If not, then… the battle for Windhelm may begin soon.

**Thanks for reading! I know this chapter and the last have just been thoughts and talking, and the next chapter might be like that too, but fear not, action is coming soon! And then the story will really begin… or something like that, I don't really know.**


	24. Galmar Stone Fist

**Just a quick note from the last chapter: simonstormcloak made me realize the Great War ended in 4E 175, not 4E 176. Disregard what I said earlier about the war ending in 4E 176, and imagine I said the correct date!  
Anyway, onto the thanks: simonstormcloak! His idea will be a **_**major **_**part of this chapter; no, this chapter **_**is **_**his idea. Basically, he suggested that I switch POV's sometimes, and I'm going to experiment with that! If the majority of my reviewers don't like the idea, I'll stop doing it. Also, thanks for the review, simon. Thanks to ejthepinoy for the review, I'm glad you're underestimating Albeci! Maybe he's Talos in disguise O_O , no I'm kidding. To hylian981: Hold on, let me just alter the laws of physics real quick… alright, let's burn Markarth! Finally, thanks to BDLG, I'm glad you like Galmar's obliviousness, and sorry about the way I wrote the letter.**

**Galmar Stone-Fist**

I sit back in my saddle, ready to fight. We still have a ways to go to get to Dawnstar, but my fingers are itching, ready to spill blood. My battle axe is called Engard after my great-great-grandfather, who originally wielded the axe during the year of 4E 98, when he murdered the assassin of the Jarl of Riften.

I had never told anyone the name of my battle axe; I don't know why, but it was named Engard by my great grandfather, and since, no one outside of the Stone-Fist Clan has known the name of my battle axe.

In fact, I'm not even completely sure my younger brother Rolff knows. I remember him being jealous when I turned 17 and Engard was gifted to me by my dying father. Rolff might have been even more distraught about not getting the battle axe than he was about my father's death. He had known for years that Engard would not be his, yet he was still disappointed when the axe shifted owners. I wouldn't be surprised if he was waiting around for me to die in battle.

I scratch at an itch in my knotted blond beard. To my right, Tymvir rides his horse. He has neglected cutting his hair, and while it has not become particularly long yet, it's starting to reach down to his shoulders. His sword is sheathed at his right hip; I can't see it, but where else would he keep it?

The air outside is cold, it has started snowing, and a tiny lake located off on the horizon is frozen over. This is going to be harsh weather for sure. Why can't we catch a break from the weather? First there was the damn storms, and now snow. I know the difference between a light snowfall and a blizzard; this, unfortunately, looks as if it is going to be the latter.

Damn it, we had better not lose any more men to this weather.

The man Albeci has received a promotion; now he receives a slightly larger payment, and is positioned closer to the front lines. Most promotions are good for nothing but bragging rights and getting yourself stationed closer to the front lines, but it's nice to let the men believe they are actually getting serious attention. It raises the morale, which is always good. Besides, even if a few of our men start to get a bit cocky with their new positions, most take them very seriously, which increases their chances of surviving.

Tymvir starts up a conversation- I don't think he gets I'm not a very talkative person- but I listen anyway.

"So, Galmar, where are you from?"

"I'm from Windhelm."

And that's true. I was born and raised in Windhelm, and, before this damned war started, I had only ventured out of the ancient stone walls that guarded me from the dangers of outside twice. Once, when I was 15, and that was just to see what was outside the city; I was attacked by a bear in the woods, and I nearly lost my arm, but I managed to kill the bear with my own sword, which I had spent my life savings on. Rolff owns that sword now- I passed it on to him when I got Engard. I had called it Bearkiller after I killed the bear, for obvious reasons, but I don't know what my brother calls it now.

"What about you? Where are you from?" I ask. Like I said before, I'm not too talkative, but this piques my interest for some unknown reason.

"Helgen. I'm from Helgen. My family has lived there for generations upon generations. In fact, I'm rather surprised we don't have our own clan name. I think once we were called Bronze-Blades or something like that, but the name was abandoned around 100 years ago. Why, I don't know."

"Interesting," I reply, rather vaguely.

I honestly don't know where the name Stone-Fist comes from, although I had tried to find out more than once. Before the war started, I would spend hours at a time studying my family's genealogy, but I could never find the origins of the Stone-Fist clan. But then, of course, I was dragged into this war by my brother, Rolff. He served for a year, then suffered a major back injury on the battlefield, and was retired from combat. Although it's not as bad as it was, he still faces difficulty when performing specifically strenuous activities. Nowadays, it seems he has nothing better to do than get drunk and insult the Argonians and Dunmer. I honestly don't understand this- I'm not too friendly with Altmer, Bosmer, or Khajiit, but only because they _are _the Thalmor. The Dunmer and Argonians are completely unrelated.

Originally I had joined the Stormcloaks only to defend Rolff's honor. I could care less about the "Oust Imperials from Skyrim" or "Hail Talos Stormcrown!" when I was facing my first battles. I had considered Ulfric a power-hungry pig, but as I slowly got more involved with the Stormcloak cause, I realized Ulfric really was sincere. Although I still have my doubts every now and then, I'm still a Stormcloak by heart, although I wish the damn war would end already- too many people have died already. And really, with the Imperial capture of Dawnstar, who knows how this war will end up?

Dismissing the thought, I stare ahead, towards the horizon. I wish to see Dawnstar soon. I have never been there before, and, of course, it wasn't necessary to send scouts there before, so I have no idea how I will proceed in tactical terms.

Abeci, I mean Albeci, is among the ranks somewhere, and he had told me he used to be a carriage driver. He had probably seen Dawnstar, but it wouldn't be worth stopping everyone just to ask him about it.

"So why do you think Talos is superior to Shor? Honestly, I'd have to stick with Ulfric on that matter," Tymvir says, once again trying to initiate conversation.

I know why- and I tell Tymvir. "Talos rose from manhood to godhood, while Shor was born a god- in other words, he did not truly earn his position. Talos also had far more skill when he was Tiber Septim. Sure, Shor is the embodiment of Sovngarde, but Talos unified Tamriel. Shor, if I remember correctly, which I do, was also killed in battle, while Talos was skilled enough to survive his wars. Talos is a paragon of Nordic society, and, although I agree that Shor is an important god, he's not as important as Talos."

"Well, I will respect your beliefs and not carry this conversation further." Tymvir says.

I briefly turn around to see how my men are faring; they're doing well. I know we are getting close to Dawnstar. It pains me knowing that by the end of this war, _every single _man in our lines may die violent deaths. I had contemplated what death would feel like, based on my experience with injuries in the past. I'm guessing it would be very painful, soaring into death's cold embrace; I intend to live long enough to see this war end, and the Imperials routed from Skyrim.

Then I remember the Imperials- although their cause is unjust, they too will suffer many casualties before this war ends. Although many will meet their end quickly, I have seen people dying slow, painful deaths before, and sometimes there is nothing I can do about it.

"Galmar! Look ahead!" I hear Tymvir shout.

"What? What is it?" I ask, moving my head back into position.

"Imperials! Imperials are charging!" But even as he says it, I see them- rows of men, just starting to form on the horizon. This is not going to amount to a small skirmish, either; when the Imperials sent the troops to take Dawnstar, they sent a fair amount of men out here. At least I'm assuming these men also helped take Dawnstar.

Noise fills the air as the Imperials march closer. So many deaths, so soon… I shake off this feeling- emotion has caused many people to lose in war, and I must not let that fate befall me. Instead, I focus on Rolff- the description of his injury he told me. I remember his exact words-

"_Damn Imperials stabbed me in the back, literally," _he had said while drinking a mug of ale, leaning against the exterior walls of Candlehearth Hall on a relatively warm day. _"Thought for sure I was gonna be a goner. Felt like a… a… never been too good with those metaphors, or whatever you call 'em. Anyway, it hurt like hell, and I was only saved by my brother-in-arms. I barely escaped with my own life, he didn't escape at all. Body's probably still stinkin' up the battlefield."_

Although his description was a bit vague, the scar on his back, a symbol of the sword that had broken through his lower spine wasn't. It told a story. I draw Engard from my back, ready to fight.

I let out a giant bellow- _"For SKYRIM!" _I swear, Stormcloaks could hear it all the way from the back lines- Okay, maybe not _that _far back- but I'm not exaggerating by much. Cheers erupt through the crowd of soldiers, and I wonder how many of those prideful cries will turn into cries of agony by the end of today. For all I know, I could be among them.

The Imperials are getting closer… closer… until I can make out the face of the man leading them on horseback. The horse is brown, and is almost completely covered with the armor Imperials make for their horses- dark red, the same color as blood. The man on horseback himself brandishes a sword made of fine steel; far sharper, and much shinier than standard issue steel in the Imperial army. He thrusts his sword towards the air, shouting encouragement to his men, much as I was doing not that long ago. _"For the Empire!"_

His face- oh, gods, his face. I recognize this man. Oh, gods, no. His tan skin, with wrinkles mothered by stress, his dark eyes, and his grey hair- this man is General Tullius. This man… this man is the leader of the Imperial Army. His eyes, although not extremely small, are almost like slits. This man has the eyes of a snake, ready to catch his prey. His armor is made of bronze, emblazoned with gold, and the symbol of the Empire, a dragon, decorates the chest area. I can see a red tunic poking out from the shoulders of his armor. His elbow is vulnerable, but his wrists and forearms are protected by leather bracers strapped onto his skin.

I've fought this man before, once in a brief duel, and we both barely escaped with our lives. It was near Whiterun, a long time ago (as in, before Ulfric's failed execution in Helgen). The Imperial had chipped the edge of Engard, and I spent a _long _time getting it repaired again- after all, that sword bears my family's honor, and I'd sooner die then see it destroyed.

Steel clashes as the battle begins. My horse is coated in light chainmail, in a dark blue shade. A sword rebounds off of it, as a man fails to perform a strike on my horse's neck. The Imperial stats to run off, and I catch him with the edge of Engard. The battle axe impales him in the back, and he falls to the floor. He's not dead yet, but the large, deep cut will soon. Although deep down, I want to help end the man's life quickly, to keep him from enduring all this pain, I am soon surrounded by three more Imperials.

A sword bounces off of my boots, and I take the opportunity to kick the man. It doesn't have much strength, as kicking from horses is a difficult task to perform, but it's enough to send him staggering back a bit. The second man's helmet literally splits into two as I bring Engard down upon his head, and he collapses. He collapsed out of force; he's not dead yet, he did not even suffer any injuries, but now there is only one man left for a moment. My horse, whom had been trained for battle in Windhelm, kicks the man with its front right hoof in the face, and he receives a broken nose, with blood flowing like a waterfall. I turn towards the first man, who, by now has regained his composition, and barely dodge his attempt to stab my stomach. As he prepares for his next attack, I swing my battle axe at his neck with great force, and his head practically _leaps _off of his body. It lands in the now-red grass in front of his body. The second man is also now back on his feet, and the third man is also ready to resume combat. The second man lands a blow on my right hip, and sends pain throughout that area, even with my armor (well, the armor's not that thick in my defense). Engard quickly introduces itself to the man's chest, with an upwards blow. Dark red blood flows thickly as first I cut though his stomach, then up to his chest. I swear, there was enough blood to take a bath in, if people were to take baths in blood. The last man's attempt at an attack is foiled when my horse charges, managing to knock the man aside, and as I ride past, I catch his face on my axe. It has split his skull; it's obvious by how deep the cut is.

By the time I have killed four men, Tymvir is over slaughtering Imperials by the dozens. Not literally, but that man is killing _a lot _of Imperials.

As I look over, I feel a tugging sensation. As I fall off my horse, and taste the ground, I realize that in the brief few seconds I was checking on Tymvir, and Imperial must have dragged me off of my horse. I lift my head up from the ground, disoriented, and spit dirt out of my mouth. My head is pounding, and I see my assailant- a young Nord, with blonde hair kept short, and the beginning of a full beard decorating his face. I roll out of the way to avoid a sword in the eye, and the man, with his free hand, quickly grabs a knife from his belt, and flings it towards me. The man has good aim, and I feel the sharp pain of steel embedded in my cheek. The shock of the moment causes Engard to fall out of my hands. I remember my training in unarmed combat, even if most of it was fistfights with Rolff when we were teenagers. I quickly stand up, and even though the pain gets worse, I shake it off.

I catch another throwing knife in shoulder. The knife is thrown with so much force it breaks through my armor, but it is still not strong enough to breach my skin. I wrench it from its place, and quickly stab the man on the outside of his sword hand. The man grimaces in pain, but he still rips his hand away from my arm, and the knife goes flying to the ground. I duck to avoid a blade to the cheek, and I press my hands against the man's throat… hard. He tries to strike me with his sword, but a kick to the leg causes momentary pain to him, and his sword is thrown out of his hands. As time goes on, he fights less and less. His face turns blue, the same shade as my armor, and finally, his body goes limp, and I let him fall. An Imperial is trying to hijack my horse, but I don't worry; my horse knows its loyalties. I dive under a swinging blade to grab Engard, and stand back up. With a bit of stealth, I manage to kill the hijacker without much difficulty. I mount my horse quickly, an arrow lodging in the back of my armor. I rip out the throwing knife from my cheek, and blood spurts for a second, before it calms down. The pain is searing, and the world spins out of focus for a second, but soon returns into focus.

I can see, off through a swarm of Imperials, Tymvir and Tullius fighting. They seem to be equal matches. The General is my kill, not Tymvir's, so I race to their location, ignoring the Imperials trying to block my path. My horse shoves most of them to the side, and the other few jump to the side before I reach them.

The General meets me with a despicable glare as I near him. His sword, if it were to cut me, even barely, it would be disastrous. That sword could probably cut through stone if Tullius wanted it to. I ready my throwing knife in my left hand, which is my inferior hand (my right hand is just barely holding up Engard, the weight starting to force sweat to trickle down my forehead), and I throw… but miss terribly. The knife veers to his left, and it lands amongst a crowd of Stormcloaks and Imperials. If I'm lucky, it hit an Imperial. If I'm not, it killed a Stormcloak.

Tullius greets my first strike, a sideways blow aimed for his neck, with a parry of his sword. The steel makes an annoying sound as it bounces back, nearly falling out of my hands. Tymvir turns towards me, as if asking for approval, and I give him a brief nod. I know what he's asking about; he wants to flank Tullius, probably on his right, as that is where he is closest, and I will flank his left side, which I am closer to.

We flank him, but the General expects this. As we close in on him, and start to attack, he dashes forward on his horse. He escapes our grasp, then turns around. He draws a standard Imperial shield from his back, which, somehow, I had not noticed before. He extends the shield toward me, the sword towards Tymvir. He charges again. Tymvir deflects the blade, but I take a nasty blow to the chest. I tumble off the back of my horse, but I catch myself this time, and I stand up. I don't have time to get back onto my horse, though- Tullius could easily kill me in the time it takes to do even that. So instead I hold Engard in a defensive position. Sure enough, by the time my battle axe is up, the General is already starting to attack again. I stumble back as his sword strikes against the metal strips lining the haft of Engard. I see Tullius swipe his blade towards Tymvir, and my fellow Stormcloak receives a nasty, but shallow cut across his stomach. A bit of blood starts slowly streaming from his stomach. He shows pain for a moment, but soon his expression turns neutral but determined again.

I look towards my horse, than at Tymvir. Our unspoken language consisting of nods tells me that he'll hold off the General while I mount my horse. I throw my leg over the saddle, Engard being heavily hefted in my right hand. As soon as I am atop my horse, I spot Tymvir combatting against General Tullius. The General, in some stupid tactical move (well, possibly- as Tymvir, said, I'm not exactly a good tactician), has turned his back to me. I charge him, and try to cleave his head in from above. And here, I don't exaggerate: Just as his skull would've been crushed, Tullius _leaps_ sideways, off of his horse, into the ground next to him. Engard ends up getting stuck in his horse's armor. _Damn it!_ I think. Unless I can get my battle axe out quickly, I'm going to have another unarmed fight. I try to wrestle the battle axe out of the horse's armor (by the way, the horse is still fine, Engard didn't quite breach its skin), but I fail. Tullius lifts his shield in front of him, so everywhere from his waist to his forehead is hidden from view. He rams into my horse, and it whinnies. Either Tullius or shield, or possibly both, are _strong_, because I can feel the tremors sent from the shield, even though I was not directly hit by it. I get off of my horse; this battle is turning into ground combat, as mounted combat does not seem to benefit any of us- in fact, sometimes I feel mounted combat even _hinders_ me, just because holding Engard feels unnatural on a horse.

In an extreme act of idiocy, I charge at Tullius. "Galmar, no! You're a freaking _idiot_!" I hear Tymvir call out. Honestly, I won't argue with him now. But memories surge of my past battle with Tullius, and my past hate for him is reborn (not that it was ever fully dead). I dodge a skillful thrust aimed at my chest by sidestepping to the right, and slug Tullius' face. I hit him so hard that I can see blood in his mouth when he opens it to spit a tooth out. "Why, you idiotic Nord!" He says, and he makes sure he can see Tymvir and me.

Tymvir charges at the General. His sword, an ordinary one salvaged a while back, lands a blow on Tullius' cheek. A cut opens there, and he starts to bleed. Tymvir, after doing this, leaps off his horse, and soon takes Tullius on in combat, keeping the General away from me. I know that he's trying to allow me time to get my axe, and I work on that right away. I run towards Tullius' horse, and mount it with a bit of a struggle and protest from the horse. I stand up, full height, and pull with all my strength to get Engard out.

"Duck, Galmar!" Tymvir orders. Not questioning his order, I do, and see a curved throwing knife, the edge extremely sharp, whiz over my head faster than lightning (once again, that's exaggeration, for those of you who didn't know). I can see Tymvir start to lose the upper hand when Tullius regains his composure. I know I have to hurry, or this could be disastrous for Tymvir, me, and the Stormcloak army itself.

"_Galmar! Hurry!" _I hear Tymvir shout. He has just suffered a cut to the thigh. I know there's a vein there, so this worries me. With strength I did not previously have, I pull out Engard. Looking around myself, I can see that most of the surrounding warriors, Imperial and Stormcloak, have stopped to watch the battle. I charge towards Tullius, and swing a low blow at his knees. It lands on the side of his right knee, and he collapses to the ground, his knee most likely broken. That's when the Imperial bystanders stop being bystanders. I see men charge at me and Tymvir, desperate to protect their leader, while a fair amount of Stormcloaks join the fight as well, trying to kill both the General and the Imperials protecting him.

Total chaos erupts on the battlefield. Screams of agony and victory sound near me, and I see two Stormcloaks fighting five Imperials that are facing away from me. I manage to sneak up behind one, and cut through his neck with Engard. The second Imperial spots me, and goes into a flurry of attacks. I manage to block his first attack with the haft of my axe, but the second attack digs into my elbow, and I yell in pain. He painfully rips his sword from my elbow, and I can see my blood trickling from my elbow, and staining the tip of his blade. I kick him in a… disabling area, and as he makes his own cry of pain, I bring Engard around so it smashes into the side of his head.

Another Imperial has been taken down by the two Stormcloaks, but one of the Stormcloaks died as well. Now it's a 2v2 fight, which is a better condition than we were in earlier. I stab one of their backs with the bottom of Engard's haft, and he stumbles forward. While the other Imperial is occupied with fighting the Stormcloak, I bring my battle axe down upon his head. A single cry sounds from him, then he falls to the ground. The Stormcloak stabs the last Imperial assaulting him and I in the neck, and now we are free to go fight other Imperials.

I look around, and realize this battle has seriously shifted in our favor. If this battle keeps up, we will win for sure. But wait a second- _Tullius! Where is he?_ I scan the area, and I seem him- he's back on his horse! And… he's retreating! I can hear him bellowing the words at the top of his lungs- _"RETREAT, MEN, RETREAT!"_ I'm not letting him go this time. I sprint through a crowd of allies and hostiles, careful not to let any Imperials cut me. My cheek still hurts, but the bleeding has gone down.

I wish I had brought my horse. I finally break through the crowd, and find Tullius about 20 yards away from everyone, but Imperials are starting to follow him. I pick up my speed. I see where Engard cut him in the knee- it's bandaged up, but the white bandage is soaked in red. Normally, Tullius would probably be lifting up his sword in the opposite direction of the fight to signal retreat, but he seems too weak to do that at the moment. He sees me, and turns around. His men are mostly ready for retreat by now, and he starts riding off. I pick up my speed even more, and, when I am in reaching distance, I leap for him. My head only manages to collide with his horse's armor, forming a nasty bruise on my forehead. I fall back down to the ground, barely able to get up.

At this stage of the battle, my head is throbbing worse than it has in a long time, so every little move pains me. As the Imperial army approaches, I slowly stand up, and my vision starts to turn double. I run towards the edge of the Imperials' ranks, and I have to keep my eyes focused on my feet to keep me from losing my balance.

As I get closer to the edge of their ranks, I start to run faster, although this hurts even worse. Ringing sounds in my ears. It gets louder as I approach the edge. I see Tymvir riding his horse in front of the Imperials' ranks. He quickly stops and lifts me on to the back of his horse, then cuts around, back to where our men are. When I see Tullius' men off on the horizon, I get off the horse, lay on the ground, and allow my eyes to close. At the moment, sleep is my greatest desire. And so I fulfill that desire.

**Hope you liked the new POV, and Tullius' introduction! Next will be an Ulfric POV, if I keep the multiple POV thing going. This is actually my longest chapter, with approximately 4550 words, and I had lots of fun writing it! Remember to review, and get a free Tymvir plushie! No, I'm kidding, you won't get a free Tymvir plushie, but still, review!**


	25. Under Markarth

**To simonstormcloak: Don't worry, Galmar really was just going to sleep. He's not dying right now. To BDLG: Yay! I'm glad you liked Galmar's POV, it was actually a bit challenging to write due to writing someone with a completely different mind (okay, maybe now **_**completely **_**different). To hylian: Thanks! I'm glad you like this chapter, and the story! To echo: Thanks, it really means a lot to me! I'm not completely sure how many chapters there are going to be, but I'm hoping for somewhere between forty and fifty.**

**Commander Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm**

I sit down near a campfire somewhat close to my tent. The cold breeze that sometimes accompanies the evening has decided to be present tonight, and I shiver as the wind flows past me, rustling my robes and making the slightest howling sound, similar to that of quiet wolf.

The fire quickly restores warmth throughout my body. Three other Stormcloaks are gathered around it, and give me brief greetings such as "Aye, Commander Stormcloak" when I sit down on the small, sideways oak log that serves as a seat. They seem to be staring down the soup that's cooking eagerly. Next to the campfire are a variety of vegetables, and I don't want to know where the men got them from. Many are diced up, such as some leek, while a few non-vegetable ingredients are boiling in the pot. Above it, a chop of venison is roasting, and the pink hue of the meat is starting to become replaced with a more reddish color, signaling it is almost done.

"Men, where did you get all these ingredients from? I know the rations aren't this large."

A young man, with just a bit of a brown beard emerging from what used to be stubble, sitting on another oak log, to the my adjacent left side, quickly replies- "We combined our rations."

Although I also don't remember giving out ingredients for soup as rations, I can see these men are a bit skinnier then they ought to be. So I go along with it, tell them to chow down, and then I get up. Come to think of it, I'm not sure why I ever sat down in the first place. Was it the smell of the stew cooking? The protection from the wind?

My sword rests in its leather sheath at my right hip as I go to grab my dinner. I try to eat the same amount and kinds of food that my men eat, so that I know how they're probably holding up. I see the disappearing sun on the horizon, getting ready to gather up its energy for the next day. At least, that's what I've always believed. Some say that when it's night here in Tamriel, it's morning on the continent of Akavir. But how could that be? There would have to be two suns for that to be possible, and Nirn, of course, only has one sun. Maybe it's some illogical mystery that's true- weird things always seem to come from Akavir- but it's probably just a falsity spoken by bored travelers looking for a story to tell.

My tent, also known as the Command Tent due to its other use as a strategy-planner-thing, invites me in with a flap blown partially open by the wind. Inside, my dinner, some preserved beef and half a loaf of bread, along with a set of flint and steel rest on the table where a large map of Skyrim also rests. As I pick up the food and flint & steel, and walk back outside of my tent, I look at the sky again. The sun has dipped down further into the sky since the last time I saw it. I see my own little campfire, unlit, a ways from my tent, so as not to catch fire to it. Branches from trees surrounded by damp grass and collected stones. A small pot rests overhead, on those things you use to hold pots over campfires- I never could remember what they were called. I approach the future fire, lay my lunch aside on a nearby stump of a tree, and strike the steel against the flint a few times over the branches. After a minute or two, my efforts pay off. A spark flies from the flint and steel, landing in the mass of branches, and the fire starts. After a minute or two, the fire is large enough for me to cook the beef over.

I quickly set the beef in the pot, and take my half-loaf of bread. I sit down, and start to munch on it. I wonder about my scout that I sent out. I sent him out two days ago to try and find a hidden entrance to Markarth from outside the walls. He still hasn't returned, and I'm starting to get a bit worried, though I'd rather find out he was dead than have no news at all. Then, at least, I could send in another scout.

The bread is a bit stale, due to me leaving it exposed to air for a while. It's crunchy, but I don't really notice. When I'm done with my bread, I check on the beef. There's still a while to go on that. So I stand up, looking off in the distance, clinging to a slight hope I might see the scout again. I have no such luck. All I see through the darkness that's starting to spread throughout the air are the walls of Markarth, which are giant, even from here, the mountains around the city, and a few clusters of trees dotting the landscape.

The scout was also supposed to report how the blockade was going. This information was vital; I want to attack soon, but I won't feel safe doing so unless I know my… er, Tymvir's plan works. My memory can be a bit shabby sometimes.

After a few minutes contemplating various scenarios involving the scout and the future battle itself, I realize my beef is done. I realize I forgot to bring anything to take out the meat. Instead, I just stick my hands in there and grab the beef as quick as possible. The searing heat causes me to drop the beef out of shock, but not before I can quickly whirl around. Luckily, it lands on the stump, so I still consider it okay to eat.

I pick up the beef, and begin to slowly eat it. It's not a very large piece of meat, and not extremely juicy, but hey, I'm in war after all, what should I expect? Luxury?

I nearly jump off of the stump when I suddenly hear shouts of "Commander Stormcloak! Commander Stormcloak!" I look at the shouter, and a realization strikes me- it's the scout! I recognize his short, black hair along with his hazel, excited eyes. I put down my half-eaten beef on a relatively smooth part of the stump, and meet up with the scout, a few yards from my campfire. I notice it is night by now; the moon is rising, but still very low in the sky.

"What's the news?" I ask.

"The blockade's going well, sir, I saw the army wasn't doing as well as they normally do. There have been strikes in the city, though, Commander- and not just in the army. People all over town are quitting their jobs, and most of the vendors in town have been murdered and their food stolen.

I also found a secret tunnel, just as you asked me to find! On the other side of Markarth, I saw a bunch of trees- sort of like a miniature forest. Right in the middle is a tiny clearing, and there's a tunnel that leads right into Understone Keep! Even though I couldn't quite locate where they keep their arsenal of weapons, if we can take Understone Keep, we'll have a great spot to defend from any guards or soldiers that try to take it back."

"Thank you. I'll need you to gather up a few warriors- I'll write down their names and the location of their tents here in just a second, and tell them to meet me back here at dawn. " I jot down some names on a slip of paper I had in my pocket, then hand the paper to him.

"Yes, sir!" The scout says, and runs off.

These warriors I speak of are some of the stealthiest Stormcloaks I know. These are- Solding Grim-Blood, a soldier that proved himself at Whiterun for his stealth in assassinating guards before the battle started, and killing the Housecarl near the end of the battle- I remember she was a dark elf, and her name was Irileth, I think. Second is a man named Aenar Gold-Steel. He was another of our assassins near the beginning of the Battle for Whiterun. The last man is a man who calls himself Hodlin of Bruma, but most of us just call him Bruma, including me.

I walk back to the stump and grab the beef again. I start to eat it, and walk back to my tent as I do. I don't worry about the campfire; although it's still going, it's bound to burn itself out all on its own.

By the time I'm back at my tent, I have finished the beef. I am inexplicably tired, so I crawl into my bedroll, without bothering to slip out of my clothes, and drift off to sleep.

The next day I wake to the sound of chattering voices outside of my tent. I wipe the sleep out of my eyes, and stretch a bit before getting out of my bedroll. The first thing I notice is that it's chilly outside- I can feel the coolness inside my tent, so I quickly slip my armor on for some additional warmth, even though it doesn't help much, and the metal feels cool as well. I grab my sword and sheath from the same table where the map is kept, and strap them to my hip.

I walk outside my tent, and see the men and the scout standing in a circle, talking. I slept in a bit- I can see the first rays of sunlight poking through the darkness, but I don't mind it, as I'm not too late. I walk towards everyone, and announce my presence.

"Alright, men!" I say. "We are sneaking into Understone Keep via a secret tunnel outside the walls. Our scout here will guide us through. Is everybody ready?" I hear a unanimous "Yes, Sir!" from this small crowd. This is only stage two in the Siege of Markarth, as I've come to calling it (the first was the blockade). After that, there's the actual invasion. Oh, did I mention that we're all carrying torches? Sorry, I'm more of a get-to-the-action as quick as possible sort of person, so my detailing can be a bit vague at times.

The scout leads the way. Bruma stands next to me, and Gold-Steel and Grim-Blood stand behind us. "So, Bruma, what brought you to Skyrim?"

His face is creased with stress; it always is, even though I don't believe he's even twenty and five yet. His eyes, dark blue and deep, seem to be hiding some sort of sorrow- this too, is constant. He's a man of few words, but he still replies when spoken to, although his answers are usually short. "The war," he says in a moderately deep voice. "Don't like those Imperials."

We continue on. Luckily, the wind today is fairly mild, so our torches don't blow out of control. I have the set of flint and steel in my right pocket, ready to ignite another fire should our current ones go out. I can hear Gold-Steel conversing with Grim-Blood behind me.

"So, Grim-Blood, how many did you actually kill at Whiterun?" Aenar asks, and I can imagine the smug smile on his face as he imagines how many more kills he has than Solding, although I do not know who has more kills myself.

"Twenty-six. What about you?"

"Thirty-four."

I hear a grunt that must have come from Grim-Blood, and imagine Gold-Steel, smiling brighter than ever. I've never liked Aenar- as I've said, he's smug. He's the youngest of us, at 19, but he's old enough to be more mature than he is. He can't find any humor in anything that isn't cruel or demeaning, but Solding is, as he said, thirty and four years old, and if Aenar is already racking up more kills then the elder man, we can't afford to get on his bad side; what if he were to join the Imperials?

We walk for long, drawn-out minutes that end up feeling like hours, with the occasional conversation springing up. I even have one with Gold-Steel, where he openly announces his superiority over all other Stormcloaks. By the end of it, my hand is resting along my sword's sheath, and I'm just hoping I'll get the opportunity to whip it out and get rid of the pest. I end up not doing so, thanks to a bit of reason and my ability to control my temper (to an extent).

"And here we are!" cries the scout, a few minutes after my conversation and near-attempted-murder with Gold-Steel. We're in a thick crowd of trees, and a slanted tunnel is dug into the ground. I can see the high stone walls of Markarth off beyond all these trees. The sun has risen in the sky some more, and I'd say it's somewhere between eight and nine in the morning. "Now watch out, it's going to be dark and a bit slippery," reports the scout.

The entrance is fairly steep. The scout goes in first- he's the only one here who knows the way, after all- and Bruma enters next. I follow him. Gold-Steel enters after me, still wearing that half-crazy smile. Grim-Blood is last, but he trips on his way down and starts sliding down, almost as if this were a children's playground. When he gets up, he brushes dirt off his face and quickly runs a hand through his hair.

The floor below us is made of cobblestone, although the entrance was just dirt. The pathway is narrow, so we have to walk in a single-file line, in the order that we entered. It is utterly silent, except for the sound of our feet tapping against the cobbled ground below us.

"Watch out," the scout says quietly, as we start to descend. "The ceiling is low here, and it's very narrow."

Sure enough, we all end up crouching to get through the tunnel, which is barely five feet tall here, and there's not much shoulder space, either. This must have been a tunnel dug by the Dwemer in ages long past.

We walk for about ten minutes, which are torturous and hurt my neck. After this time period, we can into an octagonal room, with a ceiling about twenty feet above us, and the room takes up at least as much space from side to side. The stone on the walls and ceiling are covered by tiles, depicting various paintings. The whole ceiling consists of one painting. It appears to be a map of the stars; it is very detailed, and tiny white specks made to represent stars are labeled with runes.

Looking ahead, I see that there are exactly seven different paths from here, not counting the path we just entered through. Near each one is a painting. It seems they were designed to detail what each path led to, but the illustrations have either worn over time or they have been wiped out for Markarth, and the Jarl's, protection.

"Where do we go now?" I ask the scout. "And, also, what's your name? I feel like I've heard your name before, but I don't remember it."

"My name's Hulgar. And… er, I sort of, well, completely forgot which way to go here. I think it's either the fourth, fifth, or sixth path."

_Really? Really? You forgot the path?_ Is what goes through my mind at that moment. Instead of saying that, I tell him- "Well, let's try the fourth path first then."

Hulgar replies- "I'll lead the way, the path is probably trapped."

Lovely.

Although I sort of wish I could stay here for a bit and admire the star map a little while longer, I know we must go on.

The painting near the fourth tunnel (or what remains of it, anyways) shows part of a male Dwemer's head, and something wooden on the lower left side. That doesn't look reassuring.

"Watch out, tripwire," says Hulgar, and he leaps over a thin tripwire at the entrance. I do the same. Our order got a bit rearranged while in the octagonal room. Hulgar's first, I'm second, Gold-Steel's third, Grim-Blood's fourth, and last but not least is Bruma.

"So, Hulgar, you _are _at least sure there is an arsenal in Understone Keep, right?"

"Fairly sure."  
"What do you mean, _fairly _sure?" I ask as I leap over a well-hidden pressure plate.

"I mean, there _is _a shadow of a doubt, but it's just that- a faint shadow. I _think _the arsenal is in Understone Keep, but I don't _know _that it is."

"Why didn't you find out for sure?"

"A guard found me. I slit his throat and hid his body, but then I got worried and left- another tripwire! Jump!"

I almost activate the tripwire, but I am barely able to jump over it. When I land, I look ahead. I'm not comforted by what I see. I see a pit, about thirty feet wide and the same length long not too far ahead of us. The area on the other side of the pit is not illuminated at all, and thus it is impossible for me to see what is on the other side.

"Scout Hulgar, have you been down this way before?" I ask.

"Most definitely, but I cannot be so sure this is the way to Understone Keep. All the paths that I've been down are similar in layout, and the only difference besides a few minor changes in design are the destinations that the paths lead to. One leads to Understone Keep. Some lead to other places. Some lead nowhere at all."

We reach the edge of the pit. I stand side by side with Hulgar, which is barely possible. I see on the other edge the ruins of what must have been a bridge. The pit below is deep. In fact, it is so deep I cannot see the bottom. This pit would be impossible to leap across.

"Well, I guess this isn't the way," I tell Hulgar.

"Guess not- wait, what's that noise?"

I hear it a split second later- a slight whirring noise, like machines in action. Machines… oh gods, no. Someone's activated a trap! I look towards Hulgar, and then towards his feet. "Hulgar, pressure plate! _You're stepping on a pressure plate!_"

His eyes widen. _"Run, run, run, run, run!_ _Don't look back!" _he cries.

We're dashing at full speed, away from the pit. I hear the sound of something being launched. I don't pay attention. Instead I keep running, Gold-Steel and Grim-Blood in front of me, Bruma behind me. Then, suddenly, I hear-

"_Help! Help me! Help me, damn you!"_ I turn around, and see Hulgar. A gigantic harpoon, one of dwarven craft, has lodged itself in his lower stomach, and it is anchored to a point in the wall, dragging the scout towards the pit- quickly.

Without thinking, I run towards his position. Everything seems slowed- the cries of agony he screams, his inevitable death- he's suffered a fatal blow- and the sound of my feet striking the hard ground below me. I see his dark red blood staining the floor, and a trail, made of his blood, is being created.

He is a few yards away from the black pit where a bridge stood long ago. I draw my sword, ready to cut the wire that is dragging Hulgar to an early death. He reaches the very edge, and I leap, reaching out for his hand. As he falls off the edge, he grabs on as well. I pull with all my strength, plus a little given to me by an adrenaline rush. I pull, and pull, and pull. Solding, Aenar, and Hodlin are rushing to my aid. I'm barely holding on- the wire is strong. Then, I realize the wire comes from the other side of the pit. I see a way to get to the other side- but it would be extremely risky, as well as immoral. I would have to let Hulgar die, and lodge the harpoon in the stone. Then, I would have to grab on to the wire, and go across to the other side.

I won't kill Hulgar to do this, but I resolve that, if he does die, I will use that strategy.

With a great amount of effort, we pull Hulgar over the side. "Grim-Blood! Gold-Steel! Bruma! Hold on, tight as you can! I'm cutting the wire!" They do as I say, and I let go. The scout nearly falls over the side again, almost dragging Gold-Steel and Grim-Blood along with him, although Bruma is not as affected. I go around to his side, and sweep downward with my sword. I make a cut that reaches about halfway through the wire, and, lifting my sword up again, I swipe downward again, and this time the wire disconnects from the harpoon. I quickly grab onto the wire- I don't want it to be lost forever, as we might need it in a minute or two.

Aenar, Solding, and Hodlin now easily drag Hulgar over from the side. Looking at the four of them, I notice Hodlin is breathing in short, shallow breaths. Although I can only see his backside, his chest movements make that evident. A stream of blood is gushing from his back lower stomach. The man is going to die, there's no escaping that.

"Rip the harpoon from his body!" I order.

"But, sir, that would kill Hulgar!" Solding replies.

"Face the truth, he's already as good as dead! Take the harpoon! _Take the fucking harpoon!_"

"No… you… you can't… do this!" Hulgar says in between pants.

"_DO IT!"_

With a look comprised of a mix of remorse, despise, and reluctance, Solding forcefully rips the harpoon from Hulgar's body. It is only now I realize that this wire is still anchored to that one point, and my adrenaline has kept me from using effort to keep from being pulled over the side. Without looking at the scout, I call to Solding, _"Stick the harpoon in the ground! NOW!"_

He plunges it in, close to me, the head implanted in the ground, the pole mostly visible. With effort- lots of it- I take the wire, and wrap it around the harpoon. Sweat races down my forehead, down my cheeks, even reaching down to my neck. My muscles are burning, feeling as if they had just been incinerated. I'm dehydrated, that much I know. A migraine is present behind my eyes, creating agonizing pain for me. My knees buckle. I fall to the ground. The pain is unnoticeable when compared to all the other pain within me right now. With sweat drenching me, I slowly get up again. I reach for a flask at my side containing water, and, with what little strength I have left, I lift it to my mouth. The liquid is gone from the flask in around ten seconds at the most.

Solding, Hodlin, and Aenar are all covered in sweat as well, but they're not doing as bad as I am. They also haven't done as much as me in this situation. I see Hulgar, on the ground, panting even faster now. It seems every breath is a struggle for him. I kneel down beside him.

"Hodlin, you have to know! Which path do we take?"

His last words are- "Not… telling… you… traitor."

The life fades from his eyes, and his head lolls to the side. I close his eyes for him, and his breathing has stopped, his chest still. His stomach is invisible beneath a thick coat of a dark red mess that is wholly comprised of his blood.

I'd love to say it didn't happen, but at that moment, a tear leaves my eye and runs down my cheek alongside the sweat. If I'm lucky, it is unnoticeable with my probably red-rimmed eyes. I hate to leave Hulgar's body here, but we really don't have much choice.

I force myself to stand up again, and face the wire that stretches all the way across the pit, and through to the other, dark side. I realize that I have idiotically left my torch lying on its side near me. Luckily, the fire is still going strong but has not spread to the ground (then again, I guess the ground is nonflammable). I pick it up, and then I know how I'm going to do this. I reach both hands above the wire and I stand below it. Both hands grasp the torch. I jump off the side, and the wire slides me to the other side. About halfway through, my hands nearly slide off the wire and almost cause me to fall off, but luckily, I managed to get them in the right position at the last second.

I reach the other side. Next, Grim-Blood slides across without orders. Before Gold-Steel can slide across, though, I call across- "Dump Hulgar's corpse over the side! We can't risk Imperials finding out our location!"

Aenar does this without question, and as he slides across, I hear a faint _plop_, which signifies that a few hundred feet below us is water. Gold-Steel makes it across, and Solding is already standing near me. Bruma slides across without incident.

Before we can start moving again, Solding walks towards me and throws a punch at my face. He takes me by surprise, and I stagger back, nearly falling into the watery pit.

"You let that man _die_! We could have avoided this! He was my friend, you know! If you had given me a minute more-"

"It was unavoidable, no matter what you'd like to believe. I'll let you off with that one punch, seeing as how Hulgar was apparently your friend, but if you make another move, expect retaliation."

Grim-Blood realizes this, and he does not complain anymore, although, when we start moving again, he sulks along instead of walking normally.

We make it to the point where the harpoon was anchored, and we see a mechanism that looks like a Dwemeri ballista. I'd read about their machines, along with many other things, during my stay at High Hrothgar over a decade ago.

"Sir, do you see that?" Gold-Steel asks, pointing ahead. Off in the distance, I see a giant stone structure with a bronze roof. What worries me, though, is that there is no sunlight visible.

Almost immediately, I realize these are the Dwemer ruins of the city of Nchuand-Zel. Although I've never been there before, or even extensively studied it, I know there is only one ruined Dwemer city beneath Markarth. And this is it.

We walk towards a bridge near the entrance. "Tripwire!" I say. I leap over it, then Grim-Blood does, then Gold-Steel. When it is Bruma's turn to leap… he trips, and activates the tripwire. Below us, a cascade of rocks fall behind us, blocking our way back. An arrow lodges itself in the stone bridge we're standing on. I rip it out of the ground.

"These arrows… they're Falmer made…" I realize.

"Damn it, men, let's fight!" I cry, and we charge towards a ruined stone structure.

**Hope you liked it! Sorry I haven't uploaded a chapter in a while, I've been really obsessed with Fallout 3 lately. **


	26. Troll! Troll in the, erm, Camp?

**To BDLG: I'm glad you liked Ulfric's dark side, writing dark sides for people is really hard for me to do and takes a lot of effort. Simon: I'm glad you like Legolas and Gim- I mean, Solding and Aenar! To Anonymous: Thanks, it really means a lot to me! To Hylian: Dang it! I knew the Dwemer were normal height, I just forgot when I was writing. To Sargent: I have an outline of all the chapters right now, and I'm hoping to stick with them, but I guess I could add in two or three chapters from the Imperials' POV… possibly.**

**Commander Tymvir**

_A red mass loomed in the sky above a castle- Castle Dour. With a single, deafening, roar, pieces of stone flew off of the giant Castle. A man ran out of the castle, screaming "Protect the Palace! Protect the Palace! Protect the Palace, at all costs!" A white, searing flame engulfed the man and those near him. With another thundering roar blowing off more stone from Castle Dour, a dragon landed near the building, with talons as long and sharp as longswords and teeth that could chomp a boat in half with a single snap. _

_A man rushed out from the Blue Palace, hearing the dragon roar and the people panicking in the distance. His sword was drawn, ready to fight. His son, about 14 or 15, ran alongside him with a mace of ebony drawn. They were both clothed in fancy robes, the kind you would expect nobility and royalty to wear. The older man had a somewhat thick beard, and his robes were a deep blue. The son's robes were the same shade and hue. _

"_This is your chance, son! Prove to Skyrim that you really deserve to be the son of the King!" The older man, the father, said._

"_Yes, father!"_

_They ran, and ran, until they were in the courtyard of Castle Dour. The father still appeared ready to fight, but the son was visibly exhausted. The father pushed on, though, and encouraged his son too as well._

_The boy stood off to the side and caught his breath. The man rushed toward the dragon, and drove his sword into one of the beast's folded wings. The dragon let out a deafening cry of pain, then turned to the man, the King. A malicious glint sparkled from the dragon's eye. He knew this was the King._

"_Your dinok, death will bring me pride, mortal."_

_Before the King could react, a white flame spewed from the dragon's mouth. The man felt terrible, torturing pain. White fire engulfed his vision. He felt his skin melt, his hair burn off. His son was in the line of fire, and he felt the same pain. Both father and son fell to the ground. As soldiers from all across the courtyard cried out for their King, the dragon let out a deep, evil laugh. The vision of the courtyard slowly faded to black until all that could be seen was darkness. There was nothing in this darkness but the cries of pain and sadness, and that wicked laugh. It was enough to drive a man insane._

Spots cloud my vision as I wake. I wipe a bit of sweat from behind my ear. Inside my bare chest, my heartbeat is an audible _thump-thump, thump-thump_, racing as if it were in a race- and winning. I get the feeling that that was just an ordinary nightmare. I did not see myself anywhere in that dream, and I usually do in my memories and visions.

I slowly sit up. My throat is dry, desperate for water. My bedroll is below me. It is hot in the tent, and I'm guessing it will be no better outside. I grab a canteen of water from a small desk near my bedroll, and gulp down about half of it. It's tepid, which doesn't taste good afterwards, but while I'm drinking it, I don't care in the slightest. When I'm finished with that drink, I slip my armor over my undergarments. I don't bother putting actual clothes under my armor. I'm going to take a bath in a nearby lake, and then I'm going to put on some decent clothes. I strap my canteen to my side so I can gather water at the lake.

When I leave my tent, holding my decent clothes in one hand, and my towel hidden in my armor, the sun is already fairly high in the sky. It is probably around ten in the morning. How did I sleep in that late? I've lost so many valuable hours of my day already sleeping in my bedroll. Oh well, today is supposed to be an uneventful camp day. We're still recovering from the battle with General Tullius' men. Galmar is holding up fairly well. He sustained a few bruises during the fighting, but other than that, he's fine. Albeci, though… I'll get to him later. He's still alive, but… I'd say he's lucky he is. He received quite the beating on the battlefield. I'm fairly sure he's still in one of the medic tents.

I eventually reach the lake. Luckily, it's not in the camp, and actually a bit far, so I'm one of the only people who know about it. None of the other (hopefully) few people who know about this lake are here right now, so I strip naked and bathe in the lake.

The water is cool, and feels nice against my skin, especially with this hot weather. With any luck, it will stay this way. I lay my head back against the ground next to the lake, and close my eyes.

About 20 minutes later, after about 3 or 4 minutes of actual bathing, and the rest of the time relaxing, I step out of the pool. Despite the heat, I still almost shiver. I hurry and wrap a towel around myself. I'm a rather self-conscious person, and I don't like the possibility of anyone seeing me naked, even if the chance is as slight as this. Once I've dried off, I switch into my clothes, and slip my armor on over those. I left my sword and breakfast in my tent. The sword I don't mind, but we've been in this camp for the past three days, and I've found that the lake is a nice place to eat, especially when eating breakfast. I'd like to relax by the lake for a few more minutes, but my stomach is starting to growl, so I fill up my canteen, take one large swig of the cold water, and start walking back to my tent.

When I make it back, it's been almost an hour since I originally left for the lake. This is normal, as it's taken me about the same time the past two days. Randomly, a thought of Eiruki pops into my head. I quickly dismiss it; after my torture in Markarth, I realized how heavily I was dwelling on the past, and I have taken large steps toward getting over her. Of course, no matter how deep I try to hide it, there will always be that one guilty thought in the back of mind, that tells me- _You killed her, Tymvir. _You_ killed Eiruki. _ Survivor's guilt, I think they call it.

Inside my tent, I grab a pork sandwich from the same small table where I grabbed my canteen. I quickly eat it, ready to start my day. I don't notice the taste, as I'm thinking about the impending battle for Dawnstar. Although I wish that Dawnstar had never been taken, I'm almost glad for Skald's death. He was an old man with the personality of a rash teenager. If he had known the first thing about strategy, or if he hadn't sent all of his men to the front lines instead of guarding his city, this could've been avoided. But _no_, he just _had _to give away all of his valuable men. And Ulfric just _had _to go along with it. I decide to pay a visit to my friend Albeci in the medical tent.

I make it there uneventfully, although I had to drink quite a lot of water due to the heat outside. At least it won't be getting that much hotter.

The medic tents in camp work like this- for every 30 tents, there is one medic tent. They are easy to spot due to their gold coloring, after the second color in the Stormcloak banner. Each one has a single healer working in it. It's really not that bad, as there are usually only a few injured soldiers per 30 soldiers. Sometimes a healer, after a particularly bad battle, can receive around 15-20 soldiers, just because of pure bad luck. When that happens, usually a healer with no or few patients will come to assist, and will move any patients they may have with them to the new tent. Any Stormcloaks that have no hope are usually killed with a sword in the heart while they sleep. The healers don't like to waste their magic and medicine on lost causes.

In around 5 minutes, I reach Albeci's tent. I rap my hand against a metal pole outside- here in the camp, that's the equivalent of knocking on someone's door. I hear a female voice call out "Just a second!"

I wait, and soon enough, a Nord woman with chestnut hair and crystal blue eyes steps out through the flap. "Commander Tymvir! Come right in, we're not very busy right now."

I follow her lead, and inside, I see two stretchers. Albeci is on one, and a man whom I do not know is on the other. Albeci is awake, but barely. He has a black eye, ruffled up hair, and not to mention quite a few bandaged cuts and scars. Only a couple are visible, but I know he has more under his clothes. The ones I can see include one on his left cheek, another on his right shoulder, and a very small one on his upper right forehead.

After the duel Galmar and I had had with Tullius, Albeci had tried to get involved in the outbreak of fights that occurred right after the duel ended. He was attacked by six or seven legionnaires. After he killed three or four, leaving three soldiers left, he was nearly killed when he was ambushed by another legionnaire. He was saved in the end by a few Stormcloaks that happened to spot Albeci's attackers. This was the story I heard from Albeci yesterday. It was around three in the afternoon, and he feeling extraordinarily well at the time. Well, as extraordinarily well as one can be when they're barely alive.

I walk to his stretcher. "How are you holding up?" I ask him.  
"Okay, I guess," is his reply. There's a hint of grogginess in his voice.

He continues by saying "I should be somewhat better by tomorrow. At least, that's what the healer said." The grogginess becomes a bit more evident.

"That's great! Are you wanting to get back in the fight yet?"

"Since when have I stopped? Damn right I want to fight!" He chuckles a little, but it's a weak chuckle, and it almost seems like Albeci had to put effort into it.

"Ah, that's the spirit. I'll check up on you again tomorrow, alright?"

"Seems fair to me. I'll be seeing you, then." His eyes close as soon as he finishes the words. The healer said he needed lots of sleep, and he's been rather compliant with the order.

I walk outside, and take a deep breath. I turn my head up to the air. _Force. Fus. _"Fus!" Unsurprisingly, I see nothing leap from my mouth.

I decide I'm going to do something I haven't done yet- swim in the lake. I'm not an expert swimmer, but I know a few basic strokes, just enough so that I don't drown.

I scratch at an itch in my beard, which is starting to evolve from a small, wispy beard, to a full-fledged beard. I cut my hair the other night, and now it is fairly short, but it's a crude cut, considering I couldn't find my razor blade, so I had to use my sword. There's no way, though, that I would cut my beard with it. I like to be clean-shaven, though, so I make a mental note telling myself to locate it tonight.

As I'm about to leave the camp, I see a figure near the horizon on my right, in the camp. As it moves closer, I realize it's a Stormcloak. He's bleeding from a wound in his upper right chest, that looks like it just narrowly missed his heart. He's gasping for breath, and he falls forward on his stomach when he reaches me. He looks up. "Command…commander…trolls are attacking!"

Trolls? Really? At least now I'll have something to add excitement to my day. The man's face is pained, and there's a splotch of dried blood on his right cheek. If he doesn't get medical attention soon, he'll surely die.

I look around. The camp is just as busy as ever, with men scattered here and there, so I call over two men.

"Yes, Commander?" One asks.

"Get this man to a medic tent, _now_!"

"Sir, yes sir!" The two men say simultaneously.

I run off in the direction the man came from. I'm frustrated by the fact I didn't get to swim, as I was planning, and this is war, so crap will happen… but trolls? Trolls are about the last thing I would expect attacking a camp.

The man has a blood trail- a dark red, still drying stream of blood paints the ground in a wobbly line. I do my best not to step in the blood. The pool is shallow but long. As I near the end of it, I hear a roar, obviously from a troll. I hear a scream, and I see a body fly out from between two tents. I run that way, sword drawn, and stop near the body.

The dead Stormcloak was an older woman, of about 30. Her face is a mix of tangled and matted hair and dark red blood. I hear another roar. I turn left, and I am horrified by the sight.

I've heard lots of stories about trolls, but I had never actually seen one until now. It's a brown, hulking mass with three black dots for eyes. Its claws are straight and sharp as knives. It has bared teeth, and two terrible fangs poking out of its mouth. Spikes that look like obsidian shield its shoulders from incoming attacks. It is, perhaps, the scariest thing I have ever seen.

It doesn't look very smart, but it was smart enough to take advantage of my momentary petrification, and it leaps at me. I see its claws fly toward my face, but I dive to the right just in time to dodge the attack.

I quickly roll and get back on my feet, but by the time I'm standing, the troll is already about five yards away from me, and getting closer quickly. I draw my sword, quick as lightning, and let it come. When it gets close to me, it starts launching attacks at me with its black claws.

I hear a _clang _as the claws collide with my sword, and we both stumble back. I can see a few more Stormcloaks running outside, ready to join the fight. As they sprint towards my location, I block another blow from the troll, and smack the side of its jaw with the side of my sword. It stumbles back a few steps, and then another Stormcloak, a male about my age, with shaggy brown hair, tries to stab it in the chest, but the troll recovers with just enough time to block.

It loses its interest in me and stabs the other Stormcloak again, right in the chest. It pierces his armor with a shattering sound, and soon a red stream oozes out from him, crawling down the troll's claws. This stab looks like it cut right through the man's heart. He didn't do much to stop the troll, but at least he delayed it for a moment.

I charge at the troll while it's distracted, and leap into the air, and stab in between two of the obsidian-like spikes on its shoulders. Blood stains my own blade now, but this troll is far from dead. It shakes off the pain, and I yank my sword from its shoulder. It lets out a nasty grunt, and swipes my cheek with its claws. I feel a short bout of blood gush from the wound. I swear, I obtain a new scar with every passing day.

I put a hand to my cheek, and run off. I make sure not to run too far off; I still need to kill this thing, as I would never let a beast that powerful terrorize the Stormcloak camp.

I fall to my knees, and the world takes a small turn. I now realize that the troll struck me in one of the scars the torturer in Markarth had inflicted upon me. Every cut there hurts so much more than most other incisions enemies have made on my body.

I look toward the troll's direction, but I'm too late. I feel a massive force collide into me, and I go flying. I hit a wooden beam supporting a tent, and I hear a _crack_, that I hope is coming from the wooden beam. I fumble for my sword, pain thudding throughout my head and cheek, along with my upper back (which was also unfortunate enough to make contact with the wooden beam). I finally grasp it as the troll gets too close for comfort. My hands are shaking; I'm losing far too much blood. I look at my hand, and see it has gone pale.

I roll out of the way as the troll tries to stab me, and the world spins again. Using both of my hands, I swipe my sword, and it slices into the back of the troll's left thigh. I lodged it deep, and it will take the troll a moment to shake this one off. I let go of the sword, crawl a yard or two. And slowly, ever so slowly, get up to my feet. Everything feels unreal, especially when I walk.

I see the troll knock the sword aside.

Then I know I have the sword in my hands. How I got it, I'm not sure.

I see my sword sticking through one of the troll's three, small eyes.

I see it lying on the floor, dead.

Then I see myself in a medical tent.

**Sorry for not having a chapter up in a while! I can't believe I did this twice in a row, but here are my well-arranged excuses (yay for not taking responsibility!): I've had a lot of homework, they came out with a new update for Minecraft 360, and I've been practicing my guitar!  
Now, review! I command it! If you don't, I'll send a troll to your location O_O**


	27. Nchuand-Zel

**ANNOUNCEMENT! I might participate in the November Novel Writing Month. If I do, I'm going to take a break from Clad in Blue in November. To make up for it, I'll try to upload chapters quickly for the rest of October.**

**Anyway, onto the thanks. To BDLG- I'm glad you liked the chapter, and seeing Tymvir again. You'll find out what the dream means in Book Two. To simon- I'm glad you liked the troll attack, it was really just an idea that I randomly thought up. To hylian- Make no mistake, Tymvir **_**was **_**concerned about his men, but you're right, it was rather stupid of him to be worried about swimming at all xD. Last but not least to Jesse-Thanks for the suggestion, I'm trying to get better on that. Considering I already had this whole chapter typed out by the time you reviewed, I'm not going to fix it, but I'll get better about this in later chapters.**

**Commander Ulfric Stormcloak**

Gold-Steel, Grim-Blood, Bruma, and I crouch near a stone structure that looks sort of like a small gazebo. Stone bridges lead out from this small structure in four directions. We know Falmer are hunting us down at the very moment. We also know they are blind, but have excellent hearing abilities, so we stay as still as possible.

We fought well before. We killed several Falmer, only sustaining a few injuries of our own. Then we got outnumbered. We ran off, and I think we actually pushed _further _into Nchuand-Zel, but I have a feeling I'm going to make it out of here alive. I'm not completely sure about the others, as this is a pretty bad situation, but my survival instinct has always been there for me.

We all hold our breaths as we see a Falmer enter the tiny structure. It's an ugly beast, almost as pale as snow. Its blind eyes are a pinkish-red, and lack pupils. Its nose barely protrudes from its face, its head is bald, and its ears are long and almost stick out in a right angle. It has black claws sticking out from its fingers, and sharp toenails that are pure white. It has a breastplate, gauntlets, pauldrons, and greaves all made from the hide of Chaurus, a poisonous creature many Falmer keep as pets. Their hides provide armor, of course, but Falmer houses look to be made out of them, and I've heard they make their weapons out of their hides and coat them in Chaurus poison.

It clutches a pitch black war axe in its right hand, and it seems to be listening for us. It turns around, stopping at several points. At one point, it's staring right at me, and it doesn't even know it. After that, when it stops next, it is staring near Aenar. Then, it seems to sniff. As soon as it sniffs, it raises its war axe. _Damn it, damn it, damn it- _I think. The Falmer then lets out a small screech. It's not a very loud sound to me, but with the Falmers' sensitive hearing, it will sound much louder.

It tries to bring its war axe down on Gold-Steel, but he leaps at the beast's ankles. The thing falls over from the impact, and lands next to its axe. All of us, including the Falmer, stand up almost simultaneously. I draw my sword, and everyone else draws their weapons. I'm able to stab this Falmer in the back of the head while Aenar distracts it, but I know more Falmer will be coming anytime now.

I walk outside on a bridge, and see Falmer approaching, about four or five of them. I stare down at the surface below the bridge, most likely about forty or fifty feet under me, where a river flows next to a dark ground. Although I could probably make the jump if I wanted to, the river down there looks far too shallow for me, and there's no guarantee I wouldn't land on the ground and split my skull in two.

I get an idea. When the Falmer approach, I inhale a great amount of air. When the first one tries to attack, I sidestep slightly to the left, and shout _"Fus… RO DAH!"_ All five Falmer- yes, five of them, I can see now, go flying off the side of the bridge. I motion for my men, all of them fighting off increasing numbers of Falmer, combatting in a losing battle, to follow me. They immediately abandon their fights and do as I say. We dash across the bridge, making sure not to fall off the sides like the Falmer, until we get to the next gazebo-like structure. Bruma and I check all of the exits from that structure for Falmer, and see one group approaching from the left, fairly large in number. We instinctively run right.

About halfway across the bridge, we spot another group approaching from the right. We try to turn back, but it's too late. "Talos save us…" I mutter.

"Hold your ground, men!" I bellow. "Their weapons are most likely poisoned, so _do not _let them hit you! I repeat, _do not _let them hit you!"

"What did you think we were going to do? Just stand here and let them kill us?" Aenar retorts.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll shut your mouth, Gold-Steel!" I say. Right now, the only reason he hasn't been kicked over the edge of the bridge by me so far is because of his fighting skills- we'll need them to get out of here.

"I was just saying," Aenar mutters.

The Falmer start to attack. Bruma and Gold-Steel stand side-by-side defending against Falmer that were previously chasing us, while Grim-Blood and I are standing side-by-side as well, but we are defending against the Falmer that just recently started chasing us.

The numbers of Falmer are overwhelming. There could be over one hundred. I know, deep down inside, that this is my last stand, that neither me, nor Hodlin, nor Solding, not even Aenar will survive this battle. I bet that if there were one potential survivor in this group, this battle would go down for generations.

As I parry an attack from a war axe, I bellow _"Hold your ground, men! HOLD YOUR GROUND!" _

The Falmer that tried to slay me with a war axe is rewarded with a sword in the throat. _That's one._ Although in most cases I don't enjoy killing, I really don't care this time. The main thing motivating me is the slight possibility that I survive. If I survive, I want more kills than Aenar, just to give the bastard a taste of his own medicine.

_That's two_, I think as I cut down another Falmer, this time with a slash across its chest. I look to my left, down toward the ground again. There is another river here, this one a bit deeper. _I could survive that fall, _I think. It would be painful, but I think that maybe, just maybe, I could land in there and survive. But then, I don't know if anyone else here could. I've always been particularly adept at swimming- when I was a child, I would swim whenever I could. It was probably my very favorite activity. I've learned to dive, and I have performed a dive from this high before, although the water I landed in was much deeper than this, and it was in a large lake, so I didn't risk landing on the ground near it.

"Who here can swim?" I ask.

"I can," replies Solding.

"So can I," says Aenar.

"I can't," Hodlin bluntly states.

"Why?" Grim-Blood asks.

"I was hoping we could all dive into the river below us, but since Bruma can't swim, we might as well stay up here."

"Do it. Dive down. We're all dead if we stay up here anyway. Better me than all of us." Bruma says.

"Maybe you could dive, too. Even if you can't swim, we can drag you out." I say, still chopping up Falmer. _That's four._

"I guess that sounds alright."

"_Wait! _No one ever asked me about my opinion!" Gold-Steel exclaims. "I think we should stay up here! We could all die diving down there!"

"And you think _this _is safer?" Grim-Blood asks.

"Falling down there just seems so… scary." Aenar says.

"This is war, Gold-Steel! Get over it! This world _doesn't _revolve around you, believe it or not!" Bruma snaps.

"No! We're staying up here!" Gold-Steel panics.

Grim-Blood and I exchange looks, and we smile. It's an evil smile, but we have no remorse at the moment. We hurry, turn around, and grab Gold-Steel.

"What are you doing? _What are you doing? LET GO OF ME, NOW! LET GO, LET GO, LET GO!_" Aenar screams. He resists with all his strength, but even his strength isn't equal to that of mine and Solding's combined. We turn him toward the river, and we throw him off the side of the bridge.

We watch him fall. He doesn't look like he's going to make it. I'm not sure if I'm glad or disappointed at this.

I jump off the side of the bridge next. The air becomes freezing cold, and my teeth start to chatter. Once I'm about halfway down, and my hear t is beating faster than a sabre cat chasing its prey, I see clearly that I am going to land in the water. I let out a sigh of relief, although I know the coming impact will be very painful. I remember from my time at the lake, when I was a teenager, how painful that dive was.

I close my eyes at the impact, but it forces them right back open. The water is colder than the air I was just in, and the blood all rushes away from my legs and feet, and I feel like I've just been shattered into a million pieces. A wave of pain and shock ripples through me, and I barely have the strength to swim to the surface.

My vision shifts around, but then eventually comes back into focus. I crawl onto the surface, and hear a _plop _behind me signifying that Grim-Blood has landed in the water. I see a curled form in front of me that is as still as a rock. Blue armor… blonde hair… _Aenar. Aenar Gold-Steel._ Aenar Gold-Steel lies dead in front of me. I swallow. _That's five._

I walk over, and roll him over on his back. I see there is still a fresh tear on his right cheek. His eyes are clamped shut, and he reminds me of a frightened child. When I think about it, he really wasn't much more than that. He was basically a frightened child. Well, a very _lethal _frightened child.

I see Solding crawl up next to me, and then he raises and stands. How he got over the fall so quickly is a mystery to me. I hear another _plop_, and Solding stumbles over to the water and drags Bruma out. I hear Bruma gasp for air, and then, although I can't see him, I hear him spit out lots of water onto the stone ground. He stumbles over next to me, and promptly collapses face-first. He uses his arms to lift his face off of the ground a bit, spits out some more water, and collapses again.

I turn to Grim-Blood. "We killed him," I say. "We killed Aenar."

"Yes, well, that was sort of the point, wasn't it?"

"I… I guess. Let's move on. I don't like this."

I slowly stand up, and wait for Bruma. After a minute or so, he's able to stand up, and we start walking with our weapons drawn.

Once we've walked some distance, Bruma begins to talk.

"Why would you kill Aenar? You could've left him up there, he most likely would have jumped down when he realized he couldn't take on all those Falmer. He's probably the best soldier we have, even if he was a complete asshole."

"I couldn't stand him any longer. The kid was asking for it," is Grim-Blood's reply.

"So? You thought I liked him any more than you? It doesn't matter what someone is or isn't asking for. Aenar was a _good soldier_, and we needed him. We needed him, and you both killed him. For all I care, you're no better than the Imperials."

"Shut your mouth, Bruma. Unless, of course, you'd like to be punched in the face."

"Go ahead, you mutt! I can fight!"

I turn around just in time to see Solding do exactly that. After Bruma stumbles back a step or two, he leaps at Grim-Blood.

"Grim-Blood! Bruma! Stop this insanity now!" I bark.

Bruma, after tackling Solding, stands up and stomps on his stomach. He walks over to me.

"Fine," he says. "But I would like you both to know that you are murderers, and there's a special place in Oblivion for people like you."

I want to slug Bruma across the face as well, but I don't. Instead, we continue travelling wordlessly, with me in front, Bruma behind me, and Grim-Blood behind him after he stands back up. We are all waiting for some chaos to break out, for example, Solding stabbing Bruma in the back, but I think the only danger we're actually in now is the danger presented by the Falmer.

It seems too quiet. I hear the quiet rush of water in the background, meaning the current in the water must have been stronger than I thought, and I can almost hear the breathing of Grim-Blood and Bruma. Almost.

After a while of walking around aimlessly, Grim-Blood asks a question. "Do either of you actually know the way out of this place?"

"Not sure how we could," I reply. "The only person who might have known how to get out of this place is Hulgar, and I'm doubtful of even that. Besides, he's already dead."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that."

"Hey, look at this!" Bruma exclaims. I follow his gaze to the left, and I can barely, just barely, see a glint of a metal that looks similar to bronze. Not exactly bronze, but similar.

I run up to it. I see some pieces of whatever this is sticking out around fifteen feet in the air, and some chunks are sticking out near my ankle. It looks rectangular, but most of it is buried behind the stony walls of this part of Nchuand-Zel.

"It sort of looks like part of a door, but even if it is a door, it would be impossible for us to get through it."

"Alright, let's move on ahead."

I turn away from the metal thing that looks like a door, and we all keep walking.

"Wouldn't it suck if that thing, assuming it's a door, is the only way out of here?" Solding asks.

"Yes, it would, but I would prefer not to think about that possibility," I reply.

"Shouldn't we pick up the pace a little?" Bruma wonders aloud. "It's no secret to the Falmer where we are, and they'll probably be here fairly soon."

"That sounds good," I say.

We turn our walk into a relaxed jog, and I just barely lead the way.

We pass a pillar that leads up to one of the stone structures, and I can see another bridge between the two stone structures that reminds me of the one I jumped off of. I can see two Falmer up there, calmly patrolling. They don't bother me much, as we are probably too far away for even them to hear us.

"Talos!" I hear Grim-Blood exclaim. I turn to him.

"What's wrong?"

"I saw an arrow land about two feet away from me- look." He points to a spot in the ground, where, sure enough, an arrow is notched in the ground.  
"We need to run, now!" Solding continues.

We sprint without thinking about where we are going. I can see a twirling bridge that leads up to a stone structure, and about fifteen or so Falmer running down it.

Over the course of the next few minutes, we don't slow down our pace a bit, I become extremely thirsty, and we amass at least forty followers. We stop when we hit a river. I quickly make a cup with my hands and drink some of the water.

"Are you sure that water's not poison?" Bruma asks.

"I don't know, and I don't have time to think about it. Let's keep moving."

We leap across several stones sticking out of the water until we reach the other side. Behind us, the war cries of Falmer, which are basically just screeches, pollute the air.

"We can't run forever. We'll become too exhausted. This is a good place to defend from. Are there any boulders around here?" I ask.

We look around as the Falmer get closer to the river.

I see a flat stony ground, and a large stone building off in the distance, partly submerged in a lake, but that's about it.

"I can't find any," Bruma says.

"Me neither," Grim-Blood seconds.

"Well, men, get ready to fight. Talos be with us all." I say.

I see a Falmer approach the river, which has a fairly strong current. It falls in, and gets swept away. After a few more fall in, they start to catch on. They start running to their left, which I see leads to the end of the river a ways down.

"Hurry! Get to the other side of the river! If we're quiet, we can sneak up on them from behind!" I say.

I'm the first to hop on a rock sticking out from the river. I hop across another, and another, and make it across to the other side.

Bruma hops across next, also uneventfully.

Grim-Blood hops across one, then two, and then there's only one stone left to hop across… but then he falls in the after stumbling. The current starts to pull him away. I run after him, along the side of the river. I dive in a few feet ahead of him and grab his arm.

His hand is cold and wet, which is obviously no surprise, and I swim over to shore. It hurts and strains my muscles, seeing as how Solding is probably weighs around as much as me, and I border at around 200 pounds. With the current of the water added in, you can see how badly that would hurt.

I reach one arm over the shore, and crawl out, hauling Grim-Blood with me. Once we are both on shore, I let go of him. I don't think the Falmer heard any of that over the sound of the current, and a quick look in their direction proves me right.

"Alright, men, let's move!" I whisper.

We run in a crouching stance, careful to stay near the water as to not alert the Falmer with the sound of our footsteps.

As we approach, we become quieter and quieter by taking lighter steps. They are running towards our previous location, with war axes, swords, and bows raised, and they are constantly screeching. Although it is a very annoying sound, I am grateful for it, as it distracts them from the fact that we are approaching steadily. I'm not even scared by the possibility that their smell might be (and probably is) superior to ours, as there are enough of them for their own smell to drown out the smell that we give off.

We get closer. I see the back row of Falmer. "Ready?" I whisper quietly. Solding and Hodlin both nod their heads in confirmation. "Good."

I grab a Falmer from behind, and muffle it with my hand. I draw a blade across its neck. _Six._ Bruma and Grim-Blood both sneak up behind different Falmer. Luckily, we were stealthy enough so that no other Falmer detected us. I stab another one in the back- that's seven. Six Falmer, and one man.

All the other Falmer start to approach the location where we were previously located. I know we can't kill them all using stealth, so I get an idea. I quietly signal for the men to stand back. I run around until I'm at a corner of the Falmers' ranks. I stand on the far side of the river. I prepare my Voice.

_Force…Fus. _"_Fus… RO DAH!" _A powerful ripple of blue energy exits my mouth, and sends several Falmer flying into the river, and a few all the way to the other side.

This alarms the remaining Falmer (obviously), and about ten of them come charging at us. I wonder what happened to all the other Falmer on the bridge, as I only saw around twenty chasing us, and now about half of them are either drowning or majorly set back.

Disregarding this, I fly at a Falmer, letting lose some built up anger at myself for killing Gold-Steel. Everything feels slowed, but the Falmer is no match for me. The sword stabs through its chest, and it pokes out through its back. It is obviously dead.

_That's eight,_ I think, with a malicious, bloody smile on my face.

_Nine,_ I think as I decapitate another Falmer. I see there are only about five Falmer left now, so this should be easy.

I run up to another and stab it in the eye. _That's ten._

As I think the word _eleven, _I hear Grim-Blood and Bruma yell the words "Watch out!"

I turn around… but I'm too late. A Falmer hooks its war axe in my shoulder. I cry out in agony as shattering pain ripples through my body.

"_Their weapons are most likely poisoned, so do not let them hit you! I repeat, do not let them hit you!" _I remember thinking. The pain goes numb. I start to feel woozy.

I fall over on my side, and watch as Solding and Hodlin viciously attack the beast that may be my killer.

_No, don't think like that…_

_You're not going to die…_

My eyes flicker shut. I realize that all the Falmer on this side of the river have been killed. I smile. It's a small smile, and it almost hurts to smile, but I smile all the same.

"Sir, don't die on us! Don't die on us, don't die on us, please! We need you!" I know the voice- it's distinctly Grim-Blood's. At the same time, though, it sounds like several people are saying it at the same time.

I struggle, and open my eyes. I can't open them for long, but I see four people- two of Solding, and two of Bruma.

It is now that I become seriously scared for my life. I keep my eyes open, although it causes terrible pain behind my eyes and in my head.

Then I realize, that, even if I do die, I've done much with my life.

_You've become the Jarl of Windhelm. You've started a movement to free Skyrim. You're about to succeed._

_But that's it. You're about to succeed. You haven't succeeded yet…_

_Oh Talos help me! Talos, Talos, please don't let me die! Save me, save me now!"_

I hear myself mutter the words "Oh Talos, Talos help me," quietly. My throat is dry. I hear myself quietly, and I have the raspy voice of a man who's about to die. I've seen it too many times before. Scenes flash in my head.

_A Stormcloak reached out for Ulfric. His blue armor was stained with his own dark red blood. He was coughing up more by the second, lying against the stone walls against a fort. _

_Neugrad…_

_A terrible gaping wound was steadily bleeding from his stomach. Tears were fused with more blood on his face._

"_Help… me…"_

_Ulfric reached out, and held on to the soldier's hand. Ulfric bowed his head, closed his eyes. "Talos, accept this soul into the mead halls of Sovngarde, for he has fought with honor and valor."_

"_Help…" the man said again, and then his eyes closed for the final time._

No…no…no! I won't die! I feel a rising strength in myself, one that is unrealistic, and I stand up. I ignore the pain it causes me. _Talos listened,_ is my first thought. I grab my sword, and let out a roar.

"Men, let's get out of this place! Now!"

"Commander Stormcloak, that isn't safe! You need to rest!" exclaims Grim-Blood.

"No, I don't! Follow me! We're getting out of here, and we're getting out of here _now_!"

"If you say so, Sir."

I run, and Grim-Blood and Bruma follow. I see a spiral walkway leading up to a stone structure. "Let's go up there!" I order, indicating the walkway.

"Yes, Sir!"

Three pairs of footsteps run up the walkway, making sounds as they collide with the stone. Our swords are drawn, and we want nothing more than to get out of these dark, dirty ruins. Perhaps this was beautiful when the Dwemer lived here, but no longer.

"Sir, there are Falmer behind us!" Bruma shouts.

"Then let's outrun 'em!" I reply.

_Eleven, I killed eleven, _I think. _Including Aenar._

We reach the stone structure. There are around 5 more Falmer approaching. We run down a bridge.

Despite the fact that we are in a state of action and not thought, I ask- "Has anyone here wondered how Falmer fire bows? It seems it would be impossible without sight."

"Probably that old snow elf magic," Grim-Blood replies.

We enter another stone structure, then exit onto another stone bridge.

"Hey, I've got an idea!" I say.

"What is it?" Bruma asks.

"Just watch."

I Shout, but it sounds more like a whisper. _"Zul… Mey Gut." _I then whisper "Over here!" A moment later, I hear the words _"OVER HERE!" _shouted loudly, but the voice seems to be coming from one of the walls.

"What was that?" Bruma inquires. I raise a finger to my lips to signal him to be quiet.

The Falmer run towards the wall, and we laugh as they fall off the side of the bridge. _Twelve…Thirteen…Fourteen… Ah, I lost count._

After the last Falmer falls to his death, I answer Bruma's question.

"It's another Shout. It throws my voice wherever I want it to go."

"That sounds useful."

"It is."

We run some more, and stop in another stone structure. We watch for Falmer. When we confirm that there are none, we run across another stone bridge. About halfway through, I hear Grim-Blood say-

"I see a door! A giant bronze door!" He says.

I look where he is pointing, and sure enough, I see a large, polished, completely uncovered bronze door, about three bridges away.

We run.

"Talos, it's been so long since I've seen light! Maybe we can steal some food from the Keep. It's been _ so long _since I've eaten… I think it's been about 7 hours total since we entered this place."

"I could eat Understone Keep itself right now," Grim-Blood replies.

We get closer to the door.

"Alright, stay stealthy!" I order in a hushed voice.

We reach the door, and I slowly open it. There's a small cavern, but a little farther off, I see water flowing and an alchemy lab. We just have this one small cave to trek through, then we will be in Understone Keep.

**This is a long chapter, sorry if it's a little more sketchy on detail than most of my chapters, I needed to get a new chapter up fast and I'm not an expert on Dwarven cities at all. Anyway, review! Or Ulfric will die on you in the next chapter! Just kidding, whether or not you review won't affect the course of the story.**


	28. Medic Tents & Battle Strategy

**Clad in Blue is back and in full gear! Thanks to those of you who encouraged me to start the story back up (Echo2345, simonstormcloak, and BDLG). Onto the thanks for the reviews from 5 months ago! Hylian: It was sick how Ulfric counted Aenar as a kill, but he technically **_**was**_** a kill. Simon: Yay! I was fairly worried about that bit. Jesse: Thanks! Guest: My bad, thanks for pointing that out! I'm glad you're enjoying my story. BDLG: Ulfric is probably my favorite POV too, personally. It took some effort to write the dialogue in the chapter, because I wanted to make it dark, but not **_**too **_**dark. Echo: Here's your chapter! Enjoy! And last but not least, blackpitch: I'm glad you enjoy the story. Hope you like the massive battle!**

**Commander Tymvir**

My eyes slowly flutter open as I wake up. My vision is fuzzy, my mind blank. I soon realize I'm in a hospital bed, and I have only a vague memory of what brought me here. That troll attack- the one that killed so many Stormcloaks. I feel a small trickle on my right cheek. I touch it with my finger, then hold it in front of my eyes. I see the red ooze that is blood, the ooze I've grown so accustomed to seeing- on me, on my friends, my loved ones, my enemies… everyone. My scar from Markarth (that was made worse by the troll attack) seems to have reopened.

I muster up the energy to scan the room. The tent is circular in shape, like all tents. My bed, covered with white sheets spotted here and there with blood, is on the far left of the tent. A few more beds are scattered throughout the tent. I hear a moan of pain from a man on the other side of the tent, who is leaning over on his left side, as a nurse tends to an open wound in his stomach. A terrible stench fills the air, emanating from that same man.

Although I can only see the nurse from behind, but she has a figure that seems hazily familiar to me. She's skinny, almost too much, and her brown hair flowed down- well, actually, it didn't really "flow"- it was a mess, but it reached down a little past her shoulders. She's wearing those robes that mages wear, colored a bluish-green for the most part, with tannish areas near her right shoulder and her arms, and a leather belt. I'm almost certain I know her, but I can't place my finger on who she is.

I feel exhausted, but I don't want to sleep until I know who this woman is. I see her bandaging the wound, covering up the gory mess. The wound looks like a bear ripped a chunk of his skin off, leaving the blood and intestines to rot.

When she turns around to retrieve more bandages from another healer, this one a young male with red hair, I see her crystal blue eyes, and I instantly know who she is- Wind. The one woman that tended to me in Falkreath, along with that other man- his name, what was it? It takes me a moment to remember, and then it comes to me, as suddenly as Wind's did- Hefadmun. He seemed to be a good man.

I feel free to go back to sleep, now that I recognize the healer, and I close my eyes. Just as I'm about to drift into the world of unconsciousness, a question pops into mind. A small one, but on that irks me enough that I force my eyes open- _How long have I been asleep?_

Somehow, only now do I notice that my throat is dry, and I'm thirsty. A little table sits near me, and atop it sits a canteen of water and half a loaf of bread. I smile. This is the same rations that ordinary injured soldiers get. It makes me happy, because it reminds me that I'm just as human as any other man, and that fact keeps things from going to my head. I reach for the canteen, and I swig down a large drink. I'm satisfied, my thirst now quenched. I raise my head a bit, and I get the male healer's attention.

"Hey, over here," I say. I'm surprised at how weak my voice sounds. I think back to my visit to Albeci in his medic tent. I didn't think I'd find myself in a position similar to his in less than a day's time. The man turns to me.

"Yes?" He asks.

"How long have I been in here?" I ask.

"Don't ask me. You were here last night when I arrived. There were a more troll victims then Wind could handle, so I got called in. We've taken care of most of them by now- had to put a few down- and I'll be leaving soon. And I wouldn't ask Wind if I were you, she's rather preoccupied, as you can probably tell." His voice is rather gruff, it doesn't suit his youthful appearance. There's a stressed tone in his voice, which doesn't surprise me at all.

I decide to take a light nap so I can let Wind work, and I can rid myself of this drowsy feeling. I close my eyes, and although my mind is still strangely troubled by this question, I try to clear my mind. As I drift off to sleep, the one question still lingers in the back of my mind, omnipresent.

_Plains that used to be beautiful were now skeletons of their former selves, with fire razing the ground, and the cries of pain from those damned to die agonizing deaths, tortured by the question of whether victory will be achieved or if their entire fight was a lost cause. It was a scene of pure pain and horror. On the battlefield, men and mer were clashing. Lightning bounced off shields, sword thrusts were interrupted by unnatural flames, scorching the attackers to a crisp. Two men stood side by side. One, about 15 or 16, clutched a battleax with both hands, cleaving through elves. The other, far older, who looked in his fifties, held a sword, maneuvering skillfully to avoid death for a few more seconds, and to take down a few more enemies. All enemies within a quite large radius were focused on them. They had taken down too many mer; they could not be permitted to live. They seemed untouchable; not a single bolt of lightning or ball of ice had so much as grazed their skin. _

_And so it went on this way for hours. Both men and elves fell by the thousands, but the two men kept fighting as if nothing had happened. No sign of weariness showed on their face or in their movements. Their formerly blue armor was now drenched crimson in the blood of any and all that stood in their path of merciless destruction. But then, when victory was in sight, everything turned around- at least for them. A bolt of lightning took the older man by surprise. He fell to the ground. A cry of sorrow from the younger man harmonized with the elder's cry of suffering. The younger man couldn't stop though; he had been surrounded by nearly all the mer in the surrounding area. A single female elf approached the fallen man._

"_Damn...you…" the man croaked. The elf replied with a cruel laugh, and stood over him._

"_Well, it looks like this is it," she said. "You've lost. You thought you owned the world. You thought you were undefeatable. You fought with honor, but you're no different from any other Nord- prideful, arrogant, and overconfident. You were on the verge of victory, but as history can testify, men are but dogs compared to mer. You were warned that we would win, and yet you ignored these warnings. Your death will rid the world of one pest."_

"_I die with honor," was his reply. The elf drew a dagger from her waist, and stepped on the man's stomach. He made no move to resist. Holding the knife in both hands, she plunged it into his chest with all of her strength. He groaned, but he did not pull the knife out, or do anything to resist death's embrace, reaching out for him. He accepted it like a true Nord._

_She laughed and walked away. _

_The younger man ran up to the dying man, tears streaming down his face. But he forced a smile. "We won… we won…" He said._

_The dying man smiled his last smile, and uttered his last words- "You made this happen. I'm proud… proud of you." He coughed up a bit of blood as he said those words, and faded from this world, into the next- Sovngarde._

_The younger man had won, but he did not feel victorious. He knelt by the dead man's side and wept. Even as cheers of victory echoed across the burning battlefield, and a glorious feeling filled the air, the man still wept, oblivious to those sounds._

Consciousness slowly returns to me. I feel just as sleepy as I did before, but I force myself to shake it off and open my eyes.

Wind is sitting at a small table, scrawling something on a piece of paper. I'm about to ask her the date, but then I hear a growling sound come from my stomach. I take the half loaf of bread at my bedside, and take a good chunk out of it with my teeth. It's dry; it tastes more like something a prisoner would be fed than a patient. But there's still quite far to go until we capture Solitude, so we can't waste all our food on the injured, like me. I wash down the aridity of the bread with another swig of water, then I say-

"Healer Wind! How long have I been in here?" It comes out as more of a bark then a formal question, but only on accident.

The sound of my voice startles her, but only because it's been so quiet in the tent. She stands up and turns to face me. "So you're awake," she says cheerfully.

"Stand up," she says.

"I just wanted to know how long I've been in this tent," I reply.

"Stand up and I'll tell you," she says, with a small tone of impatience in her voice this time. So I do as she says. I slowly stand, and once I do, I become wobbly and fall down. I only now evaluate the clothes I wearing. This isn't my Stormcloak outfit. It's the standard tannish rags that most patients get, and footwraps.

"I figured that would happen," Wind says. "You've been in this tent, sleeping for about 3 days. I wouldn't expect you to be able to stand up right away. Galmar ordered me to send you to the Command Tent once you're all patched up."

_Three days. _I wonder at how much I've missed. I slowly stand back up again, and though I'm still shaky, I can maintain my balance this time- but only just.

"How bad was I hurt?" I ask.

"Let's just say, you were lucky. You had a couple of minor head injuries, but they should have mostly healed by now. I'm going to keep you in here for another hour, then I'll set you free- if you're ready."

"I'm fine now. If it's alright with you I'll be leav-" Before I can finish my sentence, the healer interrupts.

"No. You may be a Commander, but I still have the ultimate say in this matter, and I'm keeping you in here for another hour. Just to make sure you're as fine as you seem. Don't go to sleep."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because then I can't tell if you've healed or not."

Although I want to argue and get out of this tent, I mutter the word "Fine," and sit back down on my bed.

"Stand back up. I'm going to administer a few tests to see how well you are. First, I want you to get down and give me 5 push-ups."

I obey, and get down into a push-up position. The first 3 are relatively easy, but at the 4th one I feel a burning sensation in my muscles. I'm able to finish the 5th, but it hurts. I feel weak.

"How do you feel?" She asks.

"Great," is my reply. Although I thoroughly dislike lying, I want to get back to work.

Over the course of the next hour, Wind makes me perform a few other things, including stretches and sit-ups. By the end of it, I'm sweating- a lot, but I'm allowed to leave the tent.

"Wait," Wind says. "Galmar gave me this-" she holds up a folded piece of paper. "Says it's directions to get to the Command Tent. Said your outfit is there, too." She holds out the paper, and I take it. I then leave the tent through the entrance flap.

Outside, a cool wind flows through the air, and the sun's rays are starting to retire from the sky for the approaching night. The sun sits low in the sky, an orange color. I can hear the _bang _of a blacksmith's hammer against his anvil, from a few tents away. I hold up the slip of paper, and unfold it. It's a messy drawing of the camp, but it works. I follow the path that Galmar has penciled in in a series of dotted lines.

In about 5 minutes, I'm at the Tent. I rap my hand against the metal pole outside. A curt voice that could belong to none other than Galmar Stone-Fist answers with a brief "Who is it?"

"Me. Tymvir." I say. His voice brightens a bit.

"Come on in!"

I walk in. I walk in, and am immediately surprised by the sight of my friend- Albeci. His black hair is arranged neatly. He looks completely fine, not like he was in a medic tent like myself not 4 days ago. He's sitting at a table, upon which rests a map of Dawnstar. In his right hand he holds a mug, in which it is about half full of a beverage that looks to be ale. On the other side, Galmar is also sitting, but his hands are empty. His mug rests atop the table alongside the map. Another seat is prepared at the front of the table.

"Take a seat," Galmar says.

I do. "So what am I here for? And why is Albeci here?" I ask.

"See, while you were gone, I decided not to waste any time. I wanted to plan a strategy to take Dawnstar. But, seeing as how I'm not exactly a strategic mastermind, I decided to recruit some extra help. Unfortunately, I know a very limited number of Stormcloaks, and even fewer within this camp, so I brought your friend Albeci in. I'll admit he's better than myself in strategy." Stone-Fist explains.

"So what's the plan?" I ask.

Now it's Albeci's turn to speak. "Dawnstar is a port, as you know. And since it's a port we can attack it from the water. I was thinking, we could gather up some builders and build some smaller boats. We could send in a small group of men on these boats, to infiltrate the port itself. Then, we could torch their ships. Not only will it prevent them from retreating that way, it will get their attention. On the opposite side of the port, there is higher terrain that leads into the town. Once the Imperial soldiers have been distracted, the rest of the men could charge in from that area and take the town with ease. So what do you think?"

I look over the map. Dawnstar's port is not too huge, but it's important nonetheless. The higher terrain would allow easy entrance to the town. Albeci's plan is perfect, in my opinion. But then, I notice one tiny flaw. It's not much, but it's still a flaw. On one side of the town, there's a narrow passageway near the water that is bordered by the water on one side, and a tiny mountain on the other. I could see Imperial soldiers escaping from there. I point it out to Albeci.

"Why don't we send in a few men with boulders and some with arrows to kill anybody trying to escape this way from on top of the mini-mountain?"

"I don't see why not."

"So, is this our final plan I ask?"

"I support it," Albeci says.

"So do I," Galmar adds in.

"And I," I reply.

"So it's final," I declare.

"Which men should we get to build the boats?" I ask.

"I'll ask around," Galmar offers.

"Alright," is my reply.

I was expecting him to start the asking around tomorrow, but he stands up and promptly leaves the tent, leaving Albeci and I inside.

"So when did you get out of the medic tent?" I ask.

"3 days ago. I got out, and almost instantly a courier ran up to me and gave me a letter from Galmar to come to the Command Tent. I was confused; my first thought was, why would he want me in the Command Tent? I didn't think he really even knew who I was. But then it turned out he was calling me up here to strategize with him, as he already told you. I came up with the part about attacking the port; he came up with the attack from the hill."

"I've found another disadvantage to the strategy," I say.

"What is it?"

"If we torch the ships, we won't get to capture them, and we'll have to build our ships anew. And Dawnstar's great strategic importance is its port. It would take a lot of funding to build a new navy for the city."

"Then how about we just torch one or two ships? It should be enough to get their attention, but that way, we could keep some ships for ourselves. And to prevent them from fleeing on the ships, we could send in a larger group of men to guard the ships."

"Sounds good to me. I guess we'll inform Galmar when he gets back. So in the meantime, how's life been going?"

"Quite fine. Besides the little trip to the medic tent, I've been living a relaxing life- at least, for life in a military camp. I've been practicing my shooting. My marksmanship skills were a bit worse than before when I shot for the first time in a while the other day. But now, they're back to normal. I had an archery contest with one man, by the name of Reing. I won, but the man was skilled. It was a good match, I appreciated the challenge. Now, not to cause any offense, but a lot of Nord names seem odd to me."

"Just as many Imperial names sound odd to me. It's just the difference of cultures. Say, are there any other drinks around?"

"Galmar has a couple of canteens stashed over in the corner of the tent-" he indicates the said corner of the tent "- I'm sure he won't mind if you borrow one."

"Thanks." I get up, grab the canteen, and walk back. I take a drink, and continue talking. "So what was Cheydinhal?"

"You mean besides the fact that my family and I were almost always on the verge of starvation? It was a decent place, I guess. Most of the people there were generous and decent. We scraped by on the septims of the people that were kind enough to spare them. We ate mostly bread, but when we could afford it, we dined on ham. It was delicious. One of my best memories was when my family got a sweetcake. It was raining heavily outside, and we were seeking shelter in an inn. My father had become friends with the innkeeper, Crassus. He was a good man. He had a thick, black beard, and shaggy hair. He looked like he belonged at a forge more than a bar. But he had the hospitality of any good innkeeper. When he saw my family, we were all wet and shivering. He walked up to us, and gave us a free sweetcake. We were extremely grateful; we had never had one of these treats before. We sat down at a table. We bonded over that one little sweetcake. It was a scene out of a story. It may have been the one happiest point of my childhood." Albeci was smiling, and there was a liveliness beaming from his eyes. "So what was life like in Helgen?"

"It wasn't anything too special, it was your average Skyrim city. People picking fights in bars, family feuds, and tradition. My family provided; most nights I had meat. My father, he always wanted me to be a priest of Talos, like himself. When the elves outlawed the worship of Talos, he taught me hate. It was a terrible thing, really, to teach your own child to hate others, but he had good reason to hate the elves. He was captured by them. My first and only girlfriend, Eiruki, and I, went off to save him. My father and I returned… but Eiruki… she earned a place in Sovngarde. I soon ran off to join the Stormcloaks. I barely ever wrote to my parents; why, I'm not sure. I had divided up the blame of Eiruki's death between the elves and myself, but perhaps I had unknowingly placed some on my father. My dad was proud of me for fighting for the Stormcloak cause, but at the same time, he and my mother were both distraught that I had run away from home. The next time I saw them… was the last time I saw them. I was to be executed at Helgen. They were watching me as I was led to the execution block. It was a painful sight. But, a terrible twist of fate occurred, and they ended up passing away instead of me. I won't go into details, but it involved that dragon attack I'm sure you heard about. But my childhood, for the most part, was a happy one.

Anyway, it's starting to get late. We'll talk to Galmar tomorrow. I'm going to sleep," I said, letting out a yawn.

"Sounds good," was Albeci's reply. With that, we both stood up and dispersed to our tents. I went to sleep with a lot on my mind; mostly about Dawnstar.

**Hope you liked my revival of the story! Also, sorry if I got Dawnstar's geography mixed up; I haven't played Skyrim in a while, I'll try to get back to playing it so my knowledge doesn't get too fuzzy.**


	29. Battle for Dawnstar, Part 1

**Echo2345 has a trilogy called "Dovahkinn the Assassin," an interesting crossover of Skyrim and Assassin's Creed. It's pretty action-packed, so if that's your style, make sure to check it out! Also, simonstormcloak has a new story called "The Last Dragonborn", that I would recommend checking out. One last thing- I altered the port of Dawnstar. Instead of being as tiny as it is in-game, I've made it so that it takes up the whole coast of the town.**

**Albeci**

A light blanket of snow covers the ground. It's cold- very cold. I'm surprised the waters aren't frozen. All I have on are my clothes under my Stormcloak armor, a pair of fur boots, and a helmet that has two small horns sticking out of the front and covers the back and sides of my head but keeping my face exposed. I stand in the wilderness, with a bow and quiver at my back and a sword sheathed at my left hip, at the northern coast of Skyrim. 10 boats- fairly small boats- sit in the water, ready to set sail. 99 men are following me to the ships. After Tymvir and I told Galmar about the change of plan, he allowed me to lead the group of men to the port. It took 5 days for the "ships" to be built. I shiver. I'm amazed at how well the Nords resist this bitter cold. I'm wearing nothing but standard Stormcloak clothes, but I have a gold pendant around my neck, with a wolf head carved into it to signify my position of power. Galmar wears a helmet in the shape of a wolf to signify his power. People just recognize Tymvir and Ulfric and obey them. Galmar doesn't need to wear the helmet; people recognize him, too, but he just likes to wear it.

There are 5 major ships we will occupy- twenty will go to each one. Once the Legionnaires are distracted by us and the Stormcloaks come charging down from the hill, we're going to sail the ships away from shore, just far enough so that the enemy can't take them. Our ships will hold ten men each; they are just rowboats. We have no masts on any of them, but luckily, there doesn't seem to be much, if any wind. The conditions are just right for sailing.

I turn around to face my men, who are waiting on me to tell them to get into the ships. They all know which ships they are going to. The ships are arranged in a 2x5 array. I'm going to be in the front row of ships, in the middle ship. It's positioned about 20 feet out in the water, so I'm going to have to do a bit of swimming.

I signal my men to get into their boats by wading into the water . The water is freezing. It takes all my willpower to refrain from turning back. Eventually, after about half a minute later and an agonizing mix of wading and swimming through this bitter water, I reach my boat. It's your basic rowboat, but it's longer and has more seats so it can hold more people. I take my position next to the right oar, and wait for the rest of my men to occupy the other seats. After a few minutes of waiting, we're all ready to go. It's going to be about an hour of rowing until we get to Dawnstar. Everyone brought their own canteens of water, and we've stocked no food. We've kept our provisions minimal, so that if Imperials ambush us along the way, they won't have much loot.

In the sky, the sun is hidden behind thin white clouds covering all of the blue sky, but it's gradually getting darker. I'd estimate it's around 7:00 in the evening, and hopefully the sun will have set by the time we arrive at Dawnstar. It'll make our stealthy approach far easier. Our boats will approach the larger Imperial ships, and from there our men will climb atop the port, quietly kill any guards, and board and take the ships.

I wait around for the rest of the rowboats to be boarded, and once we're ready, I bellow at the top of my lungs, so all can hear- _"LET'S MOVE!"_ I start rowing, almost simultaneously with everyone else. The oar is heavy; I have trouble rowing. It takes force, but I'm still able to.

Almost as soon as we depart from shore, the men begin to sing an old sea shanty. These men have far from amazing voices; but they have a ring of enthusiasm in their voices that I've grown used to hearing from Stormcloaks.

"_There once was a hardy young man of the sea!  
A Nord of courage and honor was he!  
Sail on, good Ulfgar, sail on!  
With a sword in his hand and mead in his breath!  
Fighting with valor, honest was he!  
Sail on, good Ulfgar, sail on!"_

The men continue singing their song, and a shipmate starts up a conversation with me.

"So why'd an Imperial like yourself come to Skyrim?" He asks. His face is covered by a helmet identical to that I've seen of the city guards, and about two-thirds of the men here.

"Came here from Cyrodiil when I was young. That place didn't have too much for me," I say. I remember back when I crossed the border- I was 17. I'm 23 now, so that would have been 6 years ago. I recall a guard giving me a lot of questions. I was trying to cross into Falkreath Hold, and the man was trying to make sure I wasn't a Stormcloak spy. I got off with not too much questioning, due to the fact that an Imperial being a Stormcloak didn't seem very likely. I smile a little humorous grin a little at that thought, and quickly conceal it so as not to look odd to my fellow shipmates. The shanty the men were singing stops, but they quickly go on to sing another. I don't pay any attention to this one, I just focus on rowing.

I've never really had much experience with boating. The only other time I've boated was a little relaxing cruise, if you could call it that, in a rowboat down the White River. That was a couple of years ago. I think it was after my second or third trip as a carriage driver.

Before I had that job, I had worked a few small jobs, including a barkeeper at a little inn called Dead Man's Drink in Falkreath, harvesting crops for a man named Hod (I got fired after I accidentally let a cow loose), and I even had short stint as a sellsword. I quit that job after a Khajiit adventurer named Arabhira hired me to go clear out a bandit camp with her, and she tried to kill me afterwards. My memory of that event is rather foggy, but I remember that I wound up with a bleeding cut on my right hand, and she with an arrow in her knee. I then took my payment forcibly, about 100 septims, and left. That was when I became a carriage driver.

The men in my boat are still singing- actually, I think shouting would be a more accurate term- most men here have no singing talent whatsoever, which is expected. They're soldiers, not bards.

"Hey, I think I just felt something," another shipmate says, this one about my age, a Nord with emerald-green eyes, dark skin (for a Nord, at least), and dark blond hair that he has grown out.

"What was it?" I ask.

"Felt like a raindrop. On my nose."

I look up. _Great,_ I think. We haven't even been sailing for twenty minutes, and somehow, thick rain clouds are gathering in the sky. These ships certainly couldn't withstand a storm. The men are still singing, but I prepare my voice and bellow so loud it can be heard even over their shanty. _"EVERYBODY, ROW FASTER!" _I yell. The men continue singing, and our boats are moving faster than they were before. I notice the man on the other oar of the boat has to switch out because his arms are tired. I notice then that my own arms have only the slightest exhaustion. I can still row for a long time. It probably has to do with the fact that I've had so much practice with bows.

Back when I was young, archery had fascinated me. I picked up my first bow when I was 15. I had saved up for about a year money that I had obtained, either by pickpocketing or work. I bought a yew bow and 15 arrows, and immediately went to the woods outside the city walls. The bow was a bit heavier than I had expected, but I could still lift and shoot it, even though I was a terrible archer at first. I remember the first time I shot that bow. I shot it at a tree from about 20 feet, but missed horribly. It missed by at least a foot. My first kill happened a few months later, after I had improved my skills a bit. I kept hunting, and it gave my family a source of income for the next two years.

I feel a raindrop hit my helmet… then another… then another. Over the course of the next few minutes, it escalates to a drizzle. I keep my head up just enough to see ahead of me, and rain continually hits me, but for the most part, I'm covered by armor (except on my arms and neck), so it's not a huge problem. Still, once the waves start, our mission has a very high chance of failing. I look around for land, but there's none in sight. But then I realize how close we are to Dawnstar, so we should be there within no more than 10-15 minutes. Then the battle will start.

I don't like killing. One of the reasons I use a bow to fight is so I don't have to see the looks of men as they die. I remember the first time I killed a man with a sword. It was back when I was a sellsword near Whiterun. I was working for a Breton mage called Socuciel. We were in a snowy forest inhabited by bandits. I remember the chill there being about as bad as it is out here- even though the snowy forest was near Falkreath (Socuciel had hired me near Whiterun, then paid extra for me to travel to Falkreath- why he didn't just choose a mercenary in that area is beyond me). Anyway, I had brought about 30 steel-tipped arrows with me, a couple of which had been dipped in poison. We cleared out most of the forest, but there were 3 men at the edge of the forest, and I had run out of arrows. We charged out at them. I had no weapon on me except for my bow, but Socuciel had a sword on him. He unsheathed it and tossed it to me. I remember him scorching two of the men while I was left to fight the third. With more luck than skill, as I'm not a great swordsman, I managed to stab the man, in his chest. As he died, he stared at me with unblinking blue eyes, as the life drained out of them rapidly. My sword was still stuck in him; I was too shocked to take it out, but he sort of slid off and fell on the ground, his eyes still open but no longer alive. I just stood there, until Socuciel walked up to me and started talking, and then I received my payment. In short, my conscience can't stand killing people with swords because I see their dying breaths up close.

The sound of raining continues outside, and after about five more minutes, as we near the end of our small voyage, the waves begin. They start small. We feel nothing but slight bumps. Then, they start to get more intense. The sun has set by now; the moon is still fairly low in the sky, but the sky is dark. A fairly small wave crashes over the boat I'm in. Water fills a small portion of it, and my feet become soaked, along with all my shipmates. I just now notice the singing stopped a long time ago. This wave is nothing more than an inconvenience, but I have a feeling that worse waves are yet to come. Rain is still falling from the skies, and waves crash over boats every once in a while.

"Hey, Captain Albeci," the shipmate with the concealed face says.

"Yes?" I ask.

"What's that?" He points toward something on my left. I look, and lo and behold, I see the Dawnstar port!

But, just then, I hear a deafening crashing noise. Turning to my right, I see two boats overturned and twenty men swimming around in ice-cold water. I bellow those still on their boats, _"SAVE THE FALLEN MEN!"_ A few boats turn in that direction, including mine, and the rest remain stationary so as not to interrupt the process of rescuing the men. My boat approaches the fallen craft, and then I realize we have a problem- our boats are already pushing the limits on capacity, it would be nigh on impossible to fit the men on our boats. More waves crash around us, but other than that one devastating wave, we've mostly been lucky with avoiding them. I see that some of the men can't swim; several are drowning. I realize the only way to save them is to turn their boats right side up again and get them in them, but how?

Then an idea comes to me- maybe with the force of a few oars, we could put them under the ship and flip them over. I thunder over the sound of waves and rain to make myself heard, and alert the others to my plan. Two other boats approach the fallen ones with me, and with a bit of effort, we stick our oars under them. _"One… Two… Three… PUSH!" _I shout. We all do, simultaneously, and the boat is flipped right side up with one push. I hear the gargles of men as they start to sink. I have to save them. I get another man to take my place at the oars- a red-bearded man who was a helmet similar to mine, but without horns.

I make a daring move. I stand near the edge of my boat, and I make a stunning leap to the other one. It's about 5 feet. Under normal circumstances, chances are I would have failed the jump. But, lives hang in the balance here. Men could die if I fail. So I don't. I land on the other boat face-first, and I hear a thudding sound as I hear my face bang into the wood of the boat. Standing up slowly, I see the other men are already at work with the other boat. Perfect. I see a man barely managing to stay above water, not a foot from this boat. I reach out my arm to him, and he grasps it. I lift him up onto the boat, and he also lands face-first, but with less force than I did. Looking around me, I see a few men able to swim coming to the boat. They climb aboard, one at a time, so the boat doesn't overturn again. I notice the man who was drowning is now coughing up water, into the sea. After the men climb aboard, I count 5 total men on this boat, counting me. On the other boat, 7 have made it aboard. So we're still missing 9 men.

A few more drowning men, clustered near each other, are about 20 feet away from my boat. I order 2 of the swimmers to row, and they bring me within range of the men. We all reach out arms for them to grab onto (except the man who nearly drowned; he's still occupied with coughing up water), and they grab on. We now have 8 men aboard. We're still missing six. I look around, scan the waters. They don't seem to be anywhere. _"EVERYBODY, SEARCH FOR THE REMAINING MEN!" _I order. Everyone's boats cruise around, scanning the area, executing a thorough search.

We search for about ten minutes, enduring more waves and rain, and then we give up hope. I order the men to continue heading to port, which is now in sight. I hear some protest from the men, but in the end, they follow my orders. I stay in this boat, and I take control of one of the oars. The drowning man finally stopped coughing up water, and now he's fine.

There's a lighthouse and a beacon near the port, but we're careful to avoid the beam of light it shines and we stick to the shadows. Within a couple of minutes, we've reached the port.

I scan the area. A few guards are patrolling the town, but there's only one guarding the port. I count twenty boats in the port, with two rows of ten boats, each ship flying an Imperial flag. We'll take the row closest to the sea. We all quietly sail our ships ashore, and we get out quietly. We move in little groups. Me and my seven shipmates sneak around. I signal the other men to remain still. We sneak up upon the guard guarding the ships, and I let a shipmate, one of the swimmers, slit his throat and take his torch. We drag the body behind us so as not to alert the town with a dead body. We crouch-walk to the ships, and me and my shipmates board one of the ships, a long wooden vessel with an upper and lower deck. It's a nice ship. It's a shame it's going to have to be torched. We're still dragging the guard's body behind us, but we drop it once we're on the ship. We wait for all the other men to be aboard the ships, and they all have torches they've stolen from support beams in the port that hosted torches. They wait for my signal. When we're all near the fronts of our ships, ready to move to the ones in front of them (which are touching our ships, just barely), I throw my torch behind me, and it ignites the ship. The others do the same.

We all run onto the other ships as the ships we were on are engulfed in huge flames. We all make it safely onto the upper decks. Galmar and Tymvir's men will come any time now, so I order the men to set sail. We get the masts ready, and then we mobilize our ships. About halfway across, I notice something incredibly suspicious. No one has come to fight us. No one at all. I know they can't reach our ships, but you'd think they'd make some effort to get to us. This can't be right. The guards in the city have run to the Jarl's residence, the White Hall, but, with our camp being known to them in all, you'd think the Jarl would have had soldiers watching, not just guards.

It's a trap. I can already tell. But how could they trap us? I look around. They couldn't attack us from the water… unless they had more ships waiting. But we've already seen all the area around Dawnstar, and there were no Imperial ships anywhere.

My question is answered when a scream of panic erupts from another ship. Two ships to my left, I see that Enemy soldiers are coming up from below deck. They've been waiting this whole time.

Before I can react, legionnaires have breached the upper deck of every ship, including ours. Tons of Imperials charge at us. We are outnumbered by far. They have at least thirty men pitted up against our eight. It's going to take a large amount of luck and skill to get out of here alive with the men.

"_Hold your ground and stay close to each other!" _I order loudly. Everyone except for me packs close together, almost phalanx-like, but in a circle. I myself make a mad dash toward the stern of the ship, where I'll fire at men with my bow.

I make it after dodging a few swipes at me with swords and thrusts at me with pikes. _Great, they have pikes, _I think to myself. I make a mental note to take out the pikemen first.

When I'm in position, I pull my sword halfway out of its sheath- just in case, and start shooting at people like crazy. I hear an excruciating cry from one of my men as he is skewered through the stomach on a pike. I aim my bow at the attacker's head, and let an arrow fly. It penetrates his skull through the back of his head, and blood flows from the wound rapidly as he falls to the ground, his pike landing on the deck, right next to his quickly dying self.

The reaction is instant. Three legionnaires- I don't like calling them Imperials, because, technically, I am an Imperial myself- run at me. I'm able to down one with an arrow before the other two get to me. I bash the man on the left in the face with my bow, and he stumbles back a few feet and holds his nose after letting out a brief cry of pain. The other man slashes at me with his sword diagonally, but I dive out of the way, almost falling off the ship as I land. I'm now on the very rear-left end of the boat.

The man runs toward me again, bellowing a war cry I can't quite understand. When he's close enough, he thrusts his sword at me. I duck, drop my bow, and unsheathe my sword all the way. I then thrust upward, and I stab him in the arm. He drops his sword, and the blade's side clunks against my head and falls to the ground. I then leap at him, tackle him, and pin him to the ground. He's in obvious pain from the wound I inflicted upon him. I rip out the sword as quickly as possible and close my eyes as he screams in pain and his blood is spattered on my face. I wipe some blood away from my closed eyes, then open them. The wound is bleeding, and it's a mess.

"Wait… don't kill me… please…" the man says.

"And why shouldn't I?" I ask, secretly hoping there is a reason so I don't have to kill this man up close.

"I… I have information. On the Imperials. If you spare me, I will give it to you."

I consider letting him go. If I let him go, he has the possibility to stab me in the back. If I don't, we may be missing out on valuable information. After a bit of pondering, I make my decision.

"If you can survive, I'll spare you." He looks confused for a moment, understandably. My statement was rather vague. I stand up and pick up my bow. I then bend down and take his sheath and strap it onto the left side of my waist. I sheathe both swords and pick my bow back up. I then leave the man there, to either survive or die.

The scene is grisly when I get back. There are 3 of our men left, fighting against 12 or 13 enemy soldiers. I string an arrow in my bow, and fire. I repeatedly do this. Enemies fall with each shot, and I only miss one shot. After downing about 5 soldiers, I reach for another arrow, and realize there's none there. _Damn it! _I think to myself. The only way to kill people now is with my swords. It's time to toughen up and abandon emotion and sympathy for the time being. The enemies have to die. We can't keep that many prisoners. One, sure. Two, probably. Seven or eight? No.

I charge into battle, forcing myself not to think about the death I will be causing. I see one of the few remaining Stormcloaks die, his throat slashed open by the slice of a legionnaire's blade. I recognize him as the first man I saved, the one who was coughing up water for a few minutes after he was rescued. I feel a flaring rage toward the Imperial who did that. I dash up to him, and thrust both of my swords into his back, straight into his ribcage. As I pull the blades out, he falls to the ground, limp. I see the other two Stormcloaks have recently dispatched their own enemies. I count the enemies. Four. It's pretty much an equal battle now. Two of them choose me as their target.

One of them takes a knife from a sheath and throws it at my face. I dodge it by pivoting to the right, but it still just barely misses me- I can feel it whizzing next to my head. The other man runs up to me and tries to bring a sword down on my head. I block it with the sword in my right hand, and I try to stab him in the stomach, but he has a shield, and deflects my sword off of that. He then bashes his shield into me, and I stumble back a little. He tries to stab my neck, one of my only exposed areas, but I move back a few more paces. I realize that I've neared the edge of the boat again, but this is the right edge. The legionnaire tries to kick me off, but I sidestep to the left, and realize the other soldier has caught up with us. It's two versus one again.

I hit the one who just caught up with us in the face with my sword. It was just a blunt strike- nothing to cause bleeding. He has to take a moment to recover from the pain. In that moment, I get behind the man that I was fighting before, and kick him in the back. He falls, and everything but his feet are hanging off the ship. I then push those off.

Then I feel a _crack!_ as my helmet splits into two pieces and falls off of my head. I turn around and instinctively stab the soldier in the leg, whom had snuck up behind me while I was pushing his ally off the ship. He falls to the ground, and I spare no mercy to this man like I did the other earlier, the one with the wound in his arm. I implant both of my swords into his chest, and he cries out in agony. His death is quick, though, and it speeds up even more when I rip both of my swords out.

Without waiting for his death, I walk over to where the other two Stormcloaks were fighting. They won, but only one is still alive, a large, muscly Nord. He, I, and the Imperial who I spared are the only survivors of this battle. I take a look toward the battle on land before speaking. It's not going well over there either. The Imperials have formed a phalanx wall filled with pikes to combat the onslaught of oncoming Stormcloaks, and it's working.

I then look toward the other ships. Only 4 of them are still here. The other ones have vanished. But the ones that are still here are controlled by Stormcloaks.

I turn to the man. "I've got a potential prisoner. Follow me, I think we can use him."

"Yes, Captain Albeci," The man says.

"What's your name?" I ask him.

"Ignar, Sire."

We walk toward the man that I had spared earlier. He's lying on the ground, in a small pool of blood, but he's still alive. He's holding his hand over his wound, and he stares up at me with hate in his eyes.

"I've survived. Will you hold true to your promise, or are you going to kill me now?" He asks bitterly.

"I'll hold true to my promise. But I'm still going to interrogate you."

"Well, yeah, I already knew that much."

"Ignar. Bring the man down below deck so we can question him later. If you can, bandage his wound. I don't want him bleeding to death."

He nods his head, and throws the man over his shoulder. He walks away, and as he does, I work on getting the masts ready for sailing. It gives the signal for the men on the other boats to do the same. Within a few minutes, our ships are all sailing, albeit slowly. We're all headed toward the mouth of the small gulf near the port, where we will attack any incoming ships that may come back.

When we're about halfway there, Ignar comes back above deck. I order him to get the masts rolled back up when we get just past the mouth. After a few minutes, we make it. The other ships follow, and we all take positions just outside the opening. I take the position furthest to the right. Unfortunately, this leaves me without a view of the battle, but I'll be the first to know if attackers are coming from the east.

When the masts are rolled back up, I walk up to Ignar.

"Did you tie up the prisoner or anything?" I ask.

"No, Sire."

"So he can walk around and do anything he wants down there, unguarded?"

"Yes, Sire."

"You idiot," I say. "Watch for incoming ships. I'm going down there."

"Yes, Sire."

"And stop saying that. It's getting annoying," I snap.

I walk down below deck, and look around for the prisoner, whom I suspect is causing mischief. Instead, I find him laying down, resting quietly on a bed, his eyes closed. I notice a prison cell opposite him. _Ignar, you damn idiot,_ I think. I scavenge around for a key to the cell for a few minutes. Eventually, I find it on a table near the legionnaire's bedside. _Odd,_ I think.

I wake him up. He immediately explodes at me.

"That was the only sleep I've gotten in the past three days! Let me get some damn rest!"

"You'll get your rest," I reply, "but I'm moving you to the prison cell over there. Don't worry, I'll let you keep your bed with you- if you can help me bring it over there."

"Fine," he grumbles. I take the keys real quick, hurry and unlock the cell door, and walk back to the prisoner's location. I take one side of the bed, he takes the other. With effort, we lift it up enough to carry it. It takes enormous strength, and my arms feel as if they're on fire, but we get the bed over to the prison cell. I leave it inside, a couple of feet from the door, and the legionnaire instantly collapses into it. I walk out, and close and lock the cell door. I'm weary from all this fighting, so I decide to go to sleep as well, but first I go back above deck.

"Ignar!"

"Yes?"

"I'm going to sleep. Wake me up in a few hours, or if we get attacked."

"Alright."

I go back down below deck again. There's a closed door on one part of the wall, adjacent to the cell, and I open it. Inside, I find a luxurious captain's quarters. There's a bed that looks as if it belonged to nobility. The bed's sheets were made with red silk, and I has a dresser and a few other things. I don't look around too much though, and instead fall into the bed and fall asleep.

**Okay, I'll admit I'm a bit nervous about this chapter. I honestly know next to nothing about ships, so sorry if I got some terminology wrong, and sorry for the vague descriptions of just about everything. On another note, this chapter is my longest one, clocking in at almost 5500 words. Yay! Remember to review! Ignar will be your faithful servant if you do!**


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